


and the rest is just whatever

by flavus



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: (maybe??? we shall see), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Best Friends, Child Abandonment, Depression, Everyone Has Issues, Everyone Is Gay, Everyone Needs A Hug, Foster Care, Found Family, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mutual Pining, New Girl (TV 2011) References, Parental Kurapika (Hunter X Hunter), Parental Leorio Paladiknight, References to Depression, Repressed Emotions, Sex, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Therapy, Trans Kurapika, Yearning, am i projecting onto kurapika? just a little bit, he's going to take care of himself eventually i promise, kurapika actually tries not to be self-destructive, leopika - Freeform, leopika centric, leopika supremacy btw, lots of yearning, no beta we die like men, oh my god they were roommates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:48:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29217465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flavus/pseuds/flavus
Summary: Fresh out of the psych ward and heading into his last year of undergrad, Kurapika Kurta has a plan — a checklist, rather — to brute force his way to "recovery", whatever that meant. The first thing to check off? Move in with other people.As it turns out, moving in means getting more than he bargained for: there's the found family, then there's living in the same apartment as the ex-classmate who gave him the best sex of his life. The same classmate whose texts and calls he's been ignoring for the past three years. But it's fine. It'll be fine, right? There's a No Nail Oath. All he has to do is get through one year.
Relationships: Gon Freecs & Killua Zoldyck, Gon Freecs & Kurapika & Leorio Paladiknight & Killua Zoldyck, Gon Freecs/Killua Zoldyck, Kurapika & Leorio Paladiknight, Kurapika/Leorio Paladiknight
Comments: 16
Kudos: 64





	1. august, pt 1: can't be a queen bee without a bee throne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurapika needs somewhere to live. It just happens that it's his ex-classmate's apartment. Oh, and these two strange college first-years live there too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leopika, apparently, has brought me out of fanfiction writing retirement. (please be nice ,, i'm actually incredibly nervous about posting this but also, fuck it)
> 
> me and a friend started watching hunter x hunter during quarantine, and fast forward a month later and i've torn through the bulk of the leopika fics on ao3. it's been a time. 
> 
> title for chapter 1 + the entire fic is from "if it's love", by train, because obnoxious pop music is what i write fanfiction to, apparently. this is vaguely inspired by new girl, because found family is my jam. i have plans! tags + rating are subject to change! i own nothing!
> 
> tw/cw for mentions of psych ward. also, there is ~explicit content~; the section is marked by these ~, if you'd like to skip that.

The apartment building was nice. Really, really nice, probably way nicer than it should be for its price, especially given that it was walking distance from the university. While it was situated in the midst of New York, a winding path to a park nearby led to clear pavements and running trails. The gray stone facade was in fairly decent condition and it didn't look like the apartment would crumble at the first sign of a snowstorm.

Kurapika hated it.

Alright, fine, hate wasn't the right word, he amended. Melody's voice jumped into his head.

"It wouldn't hurt to give living with other people a try," his foster mom had said offhandedly during summer break. They were sitting in the kitchen, Melody busying herself with cooking a brunch with bacon and French toast. "But you don't have to, of course." She had set the plate down in front of him and gave him a smile. They turned on the TV and watched the news and carried on as if nothing ever happened.

Melody didn't force the subject, opting not to bring it up for the rest of the summer. The thought, however, had lodged itself in Kurapika's brain and refused to get out. Especially after junior year and everything that entailed. He had a new plan now, one that involved living and not strangling himself with chains, and part of that plan involved "positive thinking" and "moving forward", according to the too-peppy social worker with blue hair and earnest eyes at the psych ward.

Never mind that he'd played exactly to what he knew they wanted — he'd gone to all of the workshops, drawing doodles on the worksheets they gave him while spouting some bullshit about grounding and rebuilding and wanting to do better. A couple blinks of his gray eyes and he was out of there in three days, with a solemn promise and a suicide prevention plan. More accurately, it was a checklist, because Kurapika believed in goals, goddamn it, and he would brute force his way to "recovery" — whatever that meant.

Get out of psych ward: Check.

Get tutoring job working with elementary school kids: Check.

Finish fourth year of college: On the way.

Process parents dying in front of him: Rain check.

Teach about the Kurta genocide, because the damn Yorbian school system didn't care about non-white communities and anything but Yorbian exceptionalism, and it made Kurapika stew every time he thought about it: Developing curriculum.

Stay alive and keep taking his anti-depressants: So far, check.

Live with other people: In progress.

Kurapika had to admit that living with other people could do him some good. He knew Melody worried for him, that though she'd only called him once in the hospital because she didn't want to smother him, she probably stayed up through the three days to make sure that he stayed alive. Another item to add to the manila folder of things he'd done wrong: not only was the hospital trip incredibly expensive (he could have avoided that if the strangling actually worked, his internal voice remarked dryly), but Melody had been the one to find him hanging there. His education had already burdened her financially, since she was a single mother; now, he had saddled her with the trauma of seeing her adopted son in chains. (Kinky, his brain supplied. At least they weren't prison chains, was another thought.)

Worse, she never looked at him with pity. Never let him worry about her too much, though he would anyway, and he already felt himself sweating, trying to push down the guilt that tasted rusty and dry in his mouth—

Someone bumped into him while he was standing in front of the apartment building.

"Get out of the way, kid!"

It jerked Kurapika out of spiraling. He inhaled deeply, composing himself, trying to prepare himself to meet whoever was in apartment 4D. Loath as he was to admit it, he really, really needed this apartment to work out. His landlord was raising rent by $125, which effectively meant Kurapika had to get more hours at one of his two jobs or move out. Given that he was already working the max time at said jobs, the "moving out" option looked very appealing.

His housing search had been far from fruitful, though. Kurapika sounded about as interesting as paint drying on the wall whenever he talked to potential housemates and fought not to cringe every time something fell out of his mouth. The rehearsed statement he'd prepared – "Hi, my name is Kurapika Kurta, I attend NYU and am studying to be a teacher. This is my last year; I'm quiet, tidy, and open to doing chores and contributing however I need to. I'll be out of the apartment for most of the day and don't have anything against pets. I'd like a space where everyone is pretty similar." – made him seem like a good housemate, he knew, but bland.

That, combined with the fact that the only places he'd found on Facebook within his price range were with people who loved partying, loved throwing parties, and loved talking to people, meant he had struck out six times. It was exhausting and frankly, embarrassing. After the last housemate interview, he'd left biting his lip so hard blood came out so he wouldn't cry or punch a wall or both.

This was the last place on his list; he'd seen the listing go up on Zillow right as he was about to call it quits and weigh his options (go live with Melody and commute two hours, become a superhuman to tack on even more work hours, negotiate a raise at one of his jobs) and set up an appointment to visit later that day.

It felt too good to be true – the ad called it "sun-soaked" and "beige-y", two adjectives that caught his eye immediately, and rent fell squarely within the amount he could pay. If this worked out, Kurapika thought, there was an approximately 83% chance he would break down on the spot when signing a lease.

So now he was here, staring up at this building, the sun jabbing his eyes. Kurapika's hands shook and he shoved them deep into his jacket pockets, closing and opening his fists. If this didn't work out, he would find a way to keep going. It was fine.

He pressed forward, got buzzed into the building, and took the elevator to apartment 4D. Kurapika took a deep breath and knocked on the door. His worries didn't have time or space to take root, as someone almost immediately flung open the door and looked up at him with wide brown eyes.

"Hi! Are you Kurapika?"

Whoever this person was, they couldn't have been older than 16. He didn't know what he'd expected when he answered the ad — maybe some English major, slim, tall, and with tortoise-shell glasses to boot, who could parallel him in the amount of books he'd read and swap factoids with him in their spare time. They would be study partners and sit in quiet companionship at the library while Kurapika lost himself in one of the myriad papers he had to write every semester or poetry he was reading for fun. It was the "sun-soaked." That was what sold the English major image.

But beyond being tall, this person did not fit his expectations in any way, shape, or form. The surprise, he knew, was written all over his face when he nodded at the spiky-haired teenager. "Yes, that's me."

"Come in!" the person in front of him chirped, apparently not offput by Kurapika's surprise. "I'm Gon and this is my apartment!"

"It's not just yours," a voice drolled from behind. Kurapika stepped inside to see another teenager, their white hair catching the light, sitting on the sofa, eyes fixed on their phone but clearly paying attention.

"Hello," Kurapika said, still shocked that both of these people lived alone. Vaguely, he registered that the apartment was indeed, as described, "sun-soaked" and "beige-y." It was spacious by Yorknew standards; while the kitchen looked like it would only fit one person at a time, with a strip of tile sandwiched between two counters, it was blessedly not squeezed next to a shower; plus, the living room and kitchen were flanked by a sizable window that looked out on the streets and faced toward the sun. The tile floor, while scuffed, looked to be in good condition and was mostly covered by a green-and-white checkered rug. Though the apartment wasn't chock-full of furniture — a suede sofa, bright green beanbag, a TV and a couple of wooden chairs around a table that looked suspiciously similar to the ones in the diner down the street were the most stand-out items — it definitely had personality. there were boxes of Chocorobos arranged haphazardly as a centerpiece on the table and

"Do you like it?" Gon asked.

Startled, he met Gon's eyes and nodded, still a little dazed. The kid's excitement was so forceful it could've bowled him over. "It looks great. How did you find out about it?"

"Well, my dad got me it! He's not around much," and at that, Gon's smile dimmed a little, "but he wanted to make sure I had a nice place to stay that wasn't the dorms, so he said I could live with my cousin. He says that you get more adventure living in the city."

The person on the sofa grumbled, something that sounded suspiciously derogatory toward Gon's dad.

Apparently Kurapika still looked vaguely concerned about two teenagers living alone in the middle of Yorknew, because said person contributed a "Don't worry about us, oldie. We're 18."

Kurapika turned to face them. The person put up their hand lazily and waved. "I'm Killua, by the way."

"Oldie?" Kurapika raised an eyebrow at Killua. "I'm only 21."

Killua stuck out his tongue in response. "Still old."

"Your hair is white. You're clearly lying, Benjamin Button."

"It's silver, excuse you."

It hit Kurapika then that he was a stranger who probably shouldn't be picking fights with his potential housemates. Gods, what had come over him? He wasn't normally this combative.

"I apologize," he said. "I've been impolite. Anyway, hello again. I'm Kurapika, I use he/him pronouns."

Killua smirked. "Don't worry about it, Mr. Kurapika." That earned a swat from Gon, who looked alarmed, and a hushed "Be nice, he could be our housemate!"

Kurapika felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"You can go ahead and wait here," Gon said, pointing out a beanbag chair in front of the sofa. "Do you want anything to drink? My cousin says it's always important to be a good host, and that includes making sure your guests are well-fed and well-hydrated. He's like my dad."

"I'll take a glass of water, thank you." Kurapika made himself comfy on the beanbag and fiddled with a loose thread.

"Sorry about the wait," Gon blurted out, taking a seat next to Killua on the couch after getting the three of them cups of water. "We're waiting for our last housemate, my cousin, to get back from his shift at the clinic because we all wanted to meet you together."

"Gon here is big on house activities," Killua explained. Though he rolled his eyes, his tone was fond.

"How long have you all lived here?" Kurapika asked.

"Since last week," Killua offered up.

"I've been here for a month," Gon added.

"Killua and I met in the park behind this building," he continued, blissfully unaware of Kurapika's internal freak-out. "He looked lonely and I asked him if he wanted to move in with me."

"You make it sound so creepy," Killua grumbled. "There were steps between the 'I met you' and the 'will you move in with me,' I promise."

"Did it involve dinner," Kurapika said, deadpan. Killua snorted.

"Yeah, I got him McDonald's!"

Killua flushed red. Gon didn't notice; if sun-soaked was a person, Kurapika thought it would be him. No wonder Killua had been sold on becoming friends with the boy so quickly. Kurapika didn't think anyone could spend five minutes with Gon without smiling.

Kurapika got the sense that Killua didn't want to talk about his family or wherever he came from; the younger boy crossed his arms self-consciously. Kurapika felt an instant kinship with him; he knew what that felt like.

"Also, Gon, I wasn't lonely. I was reading."

"Alone!"

"People read alone in parks all the time, Gon."

"Yeah, but you seemed like you wanted a friend."

"How does someone give off 'I need friends' energy?"

Gon shrugged. "They just do! You looked like a lost duckling."

"Gon, I'm not a pet."

"I know! You're Killua."

"And you're embarrassing."

Gon snickered.

Killua sighed, but it was familial. If Kurapika hadn't known better, he would've thought the two boys had been childhood friends who had been inseparable since they could talk. A pang of jealousy hit him, but he scolded it and pushed it down. Keep it down, feelings, you're here on business, Kurapika said to himself.

"You really do laugh at everything."

Gon patted Killua's shoulder, beaming even as his friend mumbled a half-hearted "Don't patronize me."

"Are you a student nearby, Kurapika? I'm a first-year at YNU studying biology so I can be a vet."

That explained his affinity for "lost duckling" Killua. Kurapika ducked his head to hide the chuckle that sprang to his lips. Shit, he didn't remember the last time he felt warmth like this around other people. "Yes, I'm at Yorknew as well. I'm in my last year as an education and ethnic studies major at Yorknew."

"Oh, I have an ethnic studies class this semester," Killua said. "I'm a first-year, but I haven't figured out what I'm doing yet. Figure I'll just take a bunch of classes and see how it goes."

"I'm glad you're taking calculus with me, Killua — I'm hopeless at math and you can help me out."

"Why don't you ask—"

The door swung open with a bang. Gon bounded over to the stranger; Killua looked up and smirked in greeting.

"Hey, old man."

"Leorio!" Gon tugged on Leorio's hand and pulled his housemate toward the couch.

Oh, shit. It took all he had not to run from the apartment.

That was a name Kurapika had heard before. More accurately, it was a name Kurapika had moaned before, into Leorio's ears, his shoulders, his mouth. Flashes of freshman year slammed into Kurapika, sending his breath all the way down to his toes. It was nauseatingly unfair, how even the sight of the man's back sent shivers down Kurapika's spine. He was in scrubs, for gods' sake, it shouldn't have been as appealing as it was. Unfortunately, Kurapika knew exactly what hid behind the loose folds of fabric. He debated the merits of pulling his sweater over his head and continuing the conversation Shia-LeBouf-style. That, however, probably would ruin any chances of him becoming Gon and Killua's (and Leorio's) housemate. Kurapika weighed his dignity against his need for housing and drive to check off part of his list. It was a tough call, but the latter won out. He stayed in the beanbag and tried not to look like he was reliving the best sex of his life.

Because while he would never admit it out loud to anyone, let alone Leorio himself, that sex set the standard for Kurapika. It ruined casual fucking for him — granted, he was too busy to do the work of flicking through Tinder to find someone who wasn't transphobic and would give him subpar sex, and he definitely wouldn't meet someone at a party, not that he frequented those, anyway.

~ 

But still. It was Leorio's fault, honestly: the man did not know how to shut up in class, flirting relentlessly. Kurapika had the bad luck of getting saddled with Leorio for their final project, and they'd been locked in yet another conspicuous argument that attracted several disgruntled stares and elicited some pointed movement away from their table.

"You have no sense of organization at all! How you get anything done is beyond me."

"I'm sorry, Mr. All That, we can't all have a perfect brain like you."

"You said it, not me."

Leorio threw his hands up in frustration. "You—"

"Have a perfect brain, yes. We've established that. Now, as for this presentation, do you want to take the lead on public speaking? Since you're so fond of your own voice."

"You may have a perfect brain"—he bracketed "perfect" in air quotes—"but I have a perfect voice," Leorio said, puffing out his chest.

Kurapika buried his head in his hands. "I'll take that as a yes to the public speaking portion."

"Aye, aye, captain," Leorio boomed.

"Can you two shut up?" someone from two tables away called.

Kurapika turned red. "This is your doing," he hissed at Leorio. "I was perfectly quiet until you met me here."

"Hey, meeting at the library was your idea. I suggested going to a coffeehouse."

"Oh, what, so you could flirt with everyone who walked by?"

"You wound me, Pika. I only flirt with half the people who walk by me."

"Don't call me that, I'm not a Pokemon." Kurapika's face had a mind of its own; the traitorous thing had turned red, making his glaring 50% less effective. "Anyway, unlike you, I have standards."

"Aw, you're pouting. That's cute."

Kurapika threw his pen across the table at Leorio, who dodged it. The pen hit the floor with a clatter too loud for either of their tastes. His eyes wandered over to the same person who'd called to them before, and they were looking at him with a glare that threatened murder. He recognized the look.

Kurapika winced and stood up, frustrated. "Let's just move," he grumbled. Wordlessly, as if Leorio picked up on his frustration, the two of them took the elevator to the fourth floor of the library, which was consistently a ghost town; unfortunately, there weren't tables, just windowsills wide enough for people to sit on. The two of them awkwardly clambered onto one such windowsill.

"Get your feet out of my face," Kurapika grumbled, using his pen to nudge Leorio's feet away from him after they'd each taken out their things again.

"I didn't know your face was located on your butt," Leorio said innocently.

"Are you sure you passed anatomy? I thought you were a pre-med."

"Also, I didn't ask to be built this way. Don't be jealous, Pika, it's not a good look on you."

"I cannot believe you! You just walk around and say whatever without thinking!"

"And what are you going to do about it? Make me stop?"

All Kurapika saw was red. "You'll stop, alright." And he closed the shrinking distance between them, clumsily planted a kiss on Leorio's lips with all the force of his frustration, grabbing the back of Leorio's head to push him closer. He'd kissed people before, but not like this. It had never felt like this, like fireworks dancing on his lips, electric everywhere he and Leorio were touching.

"Holy shit," Leorio whispered, drawing back, eyes wide. Before Kurapika had a chance to worry if Leorio felt the same, if Leorio liked it, the other man had pulled him onto his lap and into his arms, his glorious sculpted arms, capturing Kurapika's lips in a flood of kisses.

"Is this okay?"

"Yes," he moaned against Leorio's mouth. "Just keep going."

So he did. Pressed up against the Russian literature stacks, against the windowsill, against each other, Kurapika lost track of the number of times he came against Leorio's fingers. It was a miracle how much Kurapika enjoyed it (although, to be fair, he was only human and Leorio was, admittedly, a beautiful man) considering Leorio's cheesy, nonsensical pick-up lines. "If I'd known that you could check this out at the library, I'd be coming here more often." "I'd like to make some sound and fury with you." "I'll dog-ear your pages."

At least kissing Leorio, planting a trail of hickeys down his neck, biting his ear — it all got the man to shut up. And they passed the class with flying colors, so that was that. Beyond minor bickering after the sex, the two had acted like it never happened. If Kurapika flushed slightly every time he caught a whiff of Leorio's cologne when he brushed past him in the class, that was his business. He hadn't seen Leorio since; while the other man tried texting him multiple times, he'd never really responded, siloing their relationship to the class because it was just easier to do so.

~ 

He wondered, briefly, if Leorio was upset with him for ignoring him, but the other man didn't look angry. If anything, while Leorio had recognized him, he looked more shocked than anything else. Kurapika saw Leorio's eyes flicker down to meet Kurapika's own, so quickly that had Kurapika blinked, he would've missed it, before jerking his gaze downward as he plopped down next to Killua on the couch.

"Hey, Kurapika." Leorio said, grinning. The only visible sign he'd been flustered was a faint pink flush across the man's tanned skin. No one should be able to cover up their reactions that quickly, Kurapika thought, indignant. He tried not to let out a huff. "Nice to meet you. He/him pronouns, by the way." He thrust his hand forward jerkily for a handshake; Kurapika met him in the middle and shook firmly and decisively, determinedly thinking of anything else but what the man's hands were capable of, or how warm they were, or where they had been.

He had enough problems without horniness lingering in the back of his mind, so he tamped it down and veered into competitive territory. They were doing the "we've never met, we're total strangers" thing? Two could play at that game.

"Hello, nice to meet you — old man, Killua said?" He made sure to meet Leorio's eyes, smirking.

"My name is Leorio," he gritted out.

"Sorry, Mr. Leorio."

Killua made no attempt to hide his snickers. Gon's smile radiated the light of a thousand suns and if it got any brighter, Kurapika was going to shrivel up and crumble into pieces. It was already too much, being around these people who had found a home in each other.

Granted, it was also scary as fuck. He tried not to think about that part, about what it would mean if he moved in and actually became close friends with these people. At least he knew he could be civil with them; the "friends" part scared him, but he supposed he could keep an arm's length distance. He'd been doing it for the bulk of his life, anyway.

"So why are you looking for a new place to live?"

To anyone else, Kurapika would've given his stock answer. But with the three of them sitting on the couch, Gon looking at him intently, he felt compelled to share a little more of the truth.

"I've been living alone for the past three years," Kurapika said, noting something like recognition jump into Killua's eyes. "My landlord raised my rent, so I needed to find somewhere more sustainable to live."

"That sounds lonely," Gon said.

Kurapika hesitated. Had it been lonely? He didn't know how much of that time spent alone he remembered. So much of it had been a blur, a frantic rush to exact vengeance, to forget the way his parents' bodies sounded when they hit the floor, to stay afloat and abreast of schoolwork, to keep moving, that he hadn't thought about other people. Except for Melody.

"I guess it was," he said. "Just a little bit."

Killua looked at him with something like recognition. Kurapika's heart wrenched, just a little.

"Well, if you move in with us, we'll be your friends," Gon said. "Me and Killua didn't even know each other two weeks ago, and look at us now!"

"Gon, you can't just go around saying that stuff," Killua muttered.

"Let the kid live," Leorio said jovially, ruffling Killua's hair, much to the younger one's chagrin.

"Not you too, old man."

"How many times do I have to tell you that I'm 21 and turning 22 in less than five months?"

"What? I can't hear you."

"You can hear me just fine, Killua!"

Killua gestured to his ears, eyes wide. "Huh? No, they don't fall out. Really, they don't fall out."

"Your AirPods aren't even in your ears!"

Leorio looked ready to blow, and Kurapika burst out laughing. Not just a chuckle, but a real laugh, a balloon of warmth inflating in his stomach.

"What?" Killua said, somewhat defensively.

"I'm just having fun," Kurapika said. He meant, for the first time in a while, every word of it. "I want to live here, if you'll have me."

Killua crossed his arms and sized up Kurapika once more. "No offense, but we don't know who you are."

"Ask away."

He went to open his mouth, but Leorio interrupted. "I can vouch for Kurapika, he's a good guy. We were in psychology together freshman year."

That caused some of the tension in Killua's shoulders to dissipate.

"He seems nice, Killua! And Leorio likes him. That means something."

"Everyone seems nice to you, Gon, and Leorio likes everyone."

Kurapika cleared his throat and made to stand up. "Should I give you all some time to think?"

"No, it's okay," Killua said. He looked at Gon and Leorio once more; they each gave him a tiny nod that seemed to decide matters.

Kurapika felt his entire body tense up. Please, I need this, he thought desperately.

After an unbearably long moment, Killua shrugged.

"He seems like he'll tease you, old man, so he's good in my book."

"I thought the new housemate would be part of the Leorio Defense Squad," Leorio grumbled, but he was smiling.

Everything in Kurapika gave way and he blinked his eyes rapidly to push out the gratitude that had gathered there. He'd forgotten what a rush it felt like, how full it could feel. "Thank you all so much. I promise, I'll do my best to be a good housemate." If he was more comfortable with hugs and expressions of emotion, he would've wrapped them all up in his arms and sobbed.

"Welcome home!" Gon said. "Killua, let's go get the paperwork."

As soon as the two of them headed outside to talk to the landlord and get the lease paperwork, Leorio turned to Kurapika. "Funny seeing you here, huh?"

It wasn't malicious, at least not that Kurapika could tell; Leorio's eyes were wide with curiosity, though he saw a twinge of wariness.

Kurapika crossed his arms and angled his head up to meet Leorio's gaze. "Sorry, Leorio, I knew that you were living here, so I followed you to make you hard for the entirety of the school year."

"You did?"

Kurapika kept his face impassive, waiting for realization to descend onto Leorio. It took a moment for the other man to shoot him a withering glare from Leorio. "Ha, ha, very funny."

"Look, Gon and Killua are nice and sweet, from what I can see. You're sometimes bearable. I promise I won't be too irresistible."

"I'm not as horny as you think I am," Leorio sputtered. "I've been able to resist you so far."

"Oh, for what? All of ten minutes?"

Leorio groaned. "Be serious. Did you actually know I lived here? Are you stalking me?"

Kurapika resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands. Where did the man get these inane ideas?

"Why, Leorio," he exhaled. "Why would I be stalking you?"

Leorio held up his hands, looking sheepish. "I don't know! I just thought I'd ask." He paused, sized Kurapika up – his look wasn't searching or hungry; Kurapika was familiar with that feeling, but this one he couldn't put words to. It made him unsteady, reminded him of how Gon had looked at him — open and kind. He expected Leorio to lay into him, say something about how he hadn't responded to any of the other man's texts, how rude and cold he had been—

"Are you okay?"

The earnest question caught Kurapika off-guard.

"What do you want me to say? My landlord raised my rent, I can't afford to live alone, nowhere else I tried was working out. Me finding this listing was a stroke of luck." Kurapika realized he'd balled up his fists and fixed his gaze steadfastly on the floor. He let out another breath, blinked away the tears that had welled in his eyes, and fought the urge to run out of the room or plunge himself off the fire escape, given the fact that he'd just emotionally piled onto the first person who genuinely asked how he was doing.

"I apologize, Leorio. For both dumping all of that on you and for coming here. If you really are uncomfortable, I can look for somewhere else."

Kurapika turned to leave, but Leorio put a tentative hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Kurapika." He sounded genuine, so sincere it made Kurapika's heart ache. Where he would have expected pity in the man's voice, there was none. Some small angry part of him twisted and wanted to push the man away, tell him that he was wasting his kindness on the wrong person.

"I didn't know. And you didn't make me uncomfortable — I'm training to be a doctor, I've heard all sorts of things at the clinic. I won't tell Gon or Killua, I promise," he said, a corner of his mouth turning upward. "Hippocratic oath, remember?"

"Thank you," Kurapika mumbled, not knowing what else to say. The angry part of him was quickly being subsumed by embarrassed appreciation that he didn't know how to put into words.

"Anything for a friend."

Gods, Kurapika did not deserve to be here. Not at all. He swallowed the lump in his throat.

Thankfully, Gon and Killua barreled through the door, lease paperwork in hand, to break the silence with their chatter. Kurapika made quick work of signing that, then saw there was another paper next to the lease documents.

He picked it up and saw that it read "No-Nail Oath." "We, the undersigned, agree not to nail each other in any combination."

"What's this?"

"It's the one thing that we can't do," Gon said solemnly. "We can't nail each other, because what if it ruins our friendships?"

Kurapika bit his tongue instead of asking what the statute of limitations was and if it was acceptable to have banged your roommate three years ago. He threw that question into the compartment of his brain called "things to not bring up when you live with other people."

"I don't think that'll be too hard," Kurapika said, meeting Leorio's eyes while signing the No-Nail Oath. "After all, I'm not interested in geriatric patients."

"Welcome home indeed," Killua laughed. Leorio made a choking noise. Kurapika bit back a laugh.  
  
"I'm glad to be here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "no-nail oath" revised from new girl season 2, episode 17.  
> "sun-soaked" and "beige-y" is a description straight from the new girl pilot.
> 
> let me know what you think! thank you for reading :')


	2. august, part 2: leaving my ghosts behind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurapika's first day in 4D brings lots of feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title is from "i got you" by train.
> 
> i wrote this and realized it feels more like a part 2 of the first chapter & pacing-wise, felt weird to pair with everything else i had slated for the second chapter! so. here u go
> 
> the chapter number may change erratically as i go through this story, just a heads-up — planning, as it turns out, is helpful until characters go rogue and demand different things. (rip to my idea of having all the chapter titles come from "if it's love" by train) 
> 
> hope you enjoy! <3

Kurapika hoisted his duffle bag over his shoulder, casting one last cursory look over the living room and kitchen to make sure nothing was left in the apartment beyond the furniture it had already come with. The afternoon light slanted through the window, the white starting to dull as day slipped into night; Kurapika had spent the morning cleaning, the previous night packing. All that was his, beyond the duffle bag with his clothes, was the small library in his suitcase. 

It was strange to be uprooting so much and have it not show at all. The studio looked as pristine as it had been when Kurapika moved in three years ago, almost to the day: the bed made, white sheets so unwrinkled that you could see a hair even from two feet away, the kitchen counters and sink shining, the shower and curtain clear of mildew. 

When he shut the door and locked it for what would be the last time, Kurapika briefly considered trying to make things work with the landlord. Netero, for all his crotchety behavior, wasn't hostile or malicious; he was just eccentric. And difficult to negotiate with once he had decided on something to do, Kurapika reminded himself. 

He sighed and affirmed, again, that he didn't have the emotional bandwidth to try budging the immovable object when he already had something lined up. 

It had been a couple of days since Kurapika had been to the apartment he would soon share with Gon, Killua, and Leorio; they'd decided that Leorio and Kurapika would be rooming together, which Kurapika accepted reluctantly on the condition that they could put up a room divider. Hopefully, he thought, Leorio wouldn't be bringing people over often or at least would have the decency to let Kurapika ahead of time, because he was not excited to hear moans through what would inevitably be a thin barrier. 

Leorio had no issue, so here he was, rooming with the last person he'd hooked up with. It was almost poetic, he thought ruefully. As if the universe hadn't already dragged him through the mud, here he was. 

He tamped down the nerves building in his stomach once he dropped off the keys at the leasing office, in response to booming laughter from Netero and a hearty "Good luck!". All that was left to do was move in. 

On his way up to 4D, his phone rang with a call from Melody. Even two months ago, he might not have answered, but he was turning over a new page. At least, he was trying to. 

"Kurapika." Her voice fit her name. The sound of it filled him with fondness and brought a smile to his face, even though something in his gut twisted. You don't deserve her, he thought. He pushed the guilt down; it wasn't important, not right now.

"Hey." 

"How's the move-in going?" 

Kurapika tried out different answers in his head. Good? He wouldn't necessarily call it that. Bad? Not that, either. Stressful? Yes, but not for the reasons that normally came to mind. 

Melody hummed knowingly into the phone. "Don't get in your own head. Things will be okay."

"I hope so," he said. 

"I know so," she affirmed. The gentleness soothed him just enough to feel safe again. "I'm glad you found somewhere that you liked." There was an undertone of wry surprise in her voice, which made Kurapika smile.

"I was surprised, too." 

"Let me know if you need anything, okay? I'll leave you to it."

"Thanks." 

"I love you," and with that, Melody hung up. He hated that she'd already come to expect that he wouldn't say it back. Even after years of living together, he still struggled to call her mom — even if she filled that role wholeheartedly.

He was sure he felt love for her. At the very least, deep affection. But saying the words out loud felt foreign. They brought him back to a younger self, running around a house far, far away from Yorknew, a house with a backyard and a hammock and a tree that cradled the entire neighborhood, and the hands he had grown up holding.

With a twist of his lips, he put his phone back in his pocket and dug up the keys — which Killua had given him before he left, eyebrow arched and a word of warning on his mouth — to unlock the door. 

The first thing he saw was Gon and Killua sitting in front of the couch accompanied by bags of chips and candy wrappers, playing Super Smash Bros and yelling about how badly they were going to "absolutely destroy" the other. As soon as he walked in, Gon hit pause on the game and bounded over. 

"Kurapika! It's you!" 

Killua spared him a tiny wave before flicking through his phone. If Kurapika didn't know better, he would've thought the scene was a replica of the one that met him when he first came to the apartment. Like before, the joy in Gon's eyes diffused most of the anxiety Kurapika felt about moving in. It was impossible not to smile back at Gon: he was almost bouncing off the walls, vibrating from adrenaline and the egregious amount of sugar and carbs he'd eaten, judging by the small museum of wrappers surrounding them. 

"Leorio isn't home yet 'cause he had a shift at the clinic," Gon explained while Kurapika scanned the room and found his room's door open. "He's coming home early tonight, though! Which is good, because it means me and Killua don't have to make dinner."

Dinner. Kurapika's stomach grumbled, almost on cue. He registered that he hadn't eaten anything all day beyond a couple of cups of coffee — one latte from the downstairs bakery and one black coffee from Netero's office. Suddenly, he wanted to grab all the junk food in front of him and stuff it down his throat, manners be damned.

"How early is early?" 

"Probably in a couple hours or so," Killua said, still looking through his phone. "He tends to take night shifts, but he took one from 12 to 6 today." 

Gods, if Kurapika waited another moment, he thought his stomach would crawl up through his mouth and strangle him. Leorio coming home in two hours meant they'd probably have to wait another hour before dinner was ready — that equation meant patience was out of the question. He set his bags down on the floor, moving them in the direction of the TV and tried to think through the hunger haze. 

He remembered seeing a McDonald's a few blocks from the apartment and figured, while it wasn't the healthiest, it would be filling enough. 

"Do either of you want McDonald's?"

Gon nodded. His eyes lit up even more than Kurapika thought was possible, while Killua looked vaguely alarmed. 

"No McDonald's Sprite, Gon."

"But it's so good!"

"Dummy, you're not gonna be able to sleep. Don't you have an 8 a.m. tomorrow?"

Gon pouted. It was adorable, largely because it was an expression Kurapika didn't expect to see on an 18-year-old's face. 

"I thought college professors recorded everything."

"Did it say that in the syllabus?" 

"Oh." Gon paused and looked thoughtful for a second. "I don't remember."

"You didn't read the syllabus, did you." Killua sighed and got up from the couch to gently knock his hand against Gon's head. 

"It's not class yet, Killua, I'll read it after dinner!" 

Kurapika cleared his throat. As much as he enjoyed watching their banter and felt bad interrupting, he was hungry and his stomach would've interrupted had he not stepped in. "Would either or both of you like to come?"

Killua shrugged. "It'll be nice to get out of the house. Besides, someone has to make sure Gon won't chug a large McDonald's Sprite and electrocute himself." 

Gon elbowed Killua in response, sticking his tongue out. Amused, Kurapika held open the door for the three of them to step outside. The boys' banter continued through the elevator ride and onto the sidewalk, where Kurapika trailed slightly behind them. He enjoyed watching them, but interacting with both of them at the same time made him nervous; their friendship felt like a language no one else could understand and it made his heart ache, just a little. He missed his parents, missed the familiarity of Kurta, missed a time when he didn't walk around feeling like a gaping wound. 

He shook his head to clear away some of the thoughts. The last thing he needed was for his new housemates to think he was a mess. He was, but they didn't need to know that. When they got to McDonald's, where there was thankfully no line, Gon and Killua asked if he could spot them. 

"It's on me," he said. While both the boys said thanks, Kurapika noticed the surprise that flashed across Killua's eyes. Like he didn't expect people to do good things for him. The expression felt intimately familiar, so Kurapika busied himself with looking at the menu. 

Meanwhile, Gon and Killua had stepped up to the cashier to order. "Could we get 80 chicken nuggets, please?" 

Kurapika almost choked. So did the cashier, apparently, because there was a hitch in their voice when they answered. "You said 80, right?"

"Yup," Killua said, popping the P. With saucer eyes, the cashier plugged in the order. Out of the corner of his eye, Kurapika saw Killua step in front of Gon to make sure the other boy didn't order Sprite. It looked vaguely protective, which was also very cute. Kurapika ordered a hotcake breakfast and a happy meal, which got Killua to snort. 

"What's an old man doing getting a Happy Meal?"

Wordlessly, Kurapika pointed to the toy case, where plush Neopets keychains were hung up. 

"They're cute," he said by way of explanation. While Killua sputtered, Gon sighed and muttered something about wishing he'd gotten one, so Kurapika agreed to pass whichever one he got to Gon. He made a mental note to grab McDonald's tomorrow so he could grab another one. That way, he didn't have to embarrass himself in front of the boys by asking the cashier if they specifically had Poogle. 

They grabbed their food and headed back to the apartment to eat. It was a miracle that Kurapika hadn't inhaled the entirety of his food on the way back; even though it was only a few blocks, it felt like an eternity to him. He could hear Gon and Killua snickering at how fast he was walking, but his brain had defaulted to lizard mode and all it wanted was food.

As soon as they got to the apartment, Kurapika kicked off his shoes indecorously and plopped down on the beanbag chair without an ounce of grace, ripping open the McDonald's bag and stuffing chicken nuggets into his mouth. He'd have time to be embarrassed later; now was the time to eat. 

Gon and Killua matched him in pace and earnesty — both of them had similarly ripped into their nuggets, surprising for people who'd spent their entire afternoon eating. Granted, it was junk food, but Kurapika was still shocked at how quickly the two of them finished forty nuggets. 

"When was the last time you had chicken nuggets?" Kurapika asked, once he'd finished enough food to be comfortably satisfied. 

"Two days ago," Gon shrugged. "What about you?"

If he was in a cartoon, Kurapika's eyes would've bugged out and a train whistle would've sounded in the background. Two days ago. Forty nuggets. These kids were possibly inhuman.

"It's been a while. My—Melody tends to cook and that's a habit she passed onto me." 

"Who's Melody?" Killua was the one to ask now, blue eyes curious.

Kurapika weighed the importance of sharing the whole "my parents got shot in front of me, it fucked me up, but now I'm living in a sort-of stable family, except it's just one person and that's Melody" story. 

He settled for, "She's like a mother to me." 

"Oh, like Aunt Mito! She's like a mom to both me and Killua," Gon said, enthused. "She's only met him once and she totally loved him. She gave him a bunch of food to take home, which," he frowned. "She didn't really have to because we live together. But it was really sweet of her to do that." 

"Yeah, she's really nice," Killua said. He'd shoved his hands in his pockets and looked bashful. 

"You two really do things out of order, don't you? Moving in, eating dinner, meeting the parents." 

The murderous look on Killua's face and the confused one on Gon's was worth the quip. 

"You'll pay for that, oldie," Killua muttered. After wiping away stray crumbs from his mouth and cleaning the grease off his hands with a napkin, he handed Kurapika a controller. "You're about to get your ass whooped." 

If he wanted a challenge, he'd get one. Kurapika took the controller and stared at the screen, determined. "Surprise me."

Gon cheered.

* * *

Gon groaned. More accurately, he whined. "Kurapika!" 

"Hey, I think I was the one who killed you that time," Killua said. "Give me my credit."

"Not true," Kurapika said absentmindedly, focus still on the screen. "That was my combo and you know it."

"It's hard to tell when we're all playing the same character, even if they are different colors," Gon pointed out. "I guess it doesn't matter. Because next time, I'll win!"

"Gon, haven't you been saying that for the past few games? You're kind of on a losing streak." 

That put a gleam in Gon's eyes. Kurapika was glad he wasn't sandwiched between the two boys, who looked ready to pummel each other not just on-screen, but off. 

"It's over for you," Killua said casually, patting Gon's back with a free hand. "Don't worry about it." 

Gon exploded in a string of curses and promises "that he was the best Smash player in the apartment," a flustered Killua meeting him toe-to-toe. Kurapika went to go turn on the lights, amused, pausing the game because he didn't think it was quite fair to kick Killua when the other was so absorbed in matching Gon's energy. He blinked a couple times when the lights came on, bleary-eyed from however long he'd been sitting in front of the TV playing with Gon and Killua. 

The sun had long since set, blanketing the entire apartment in darkness beyond the pinpricks of light from the Yorknew cityscape and the fluorescent glow of the TV. Time hadn't seemed real, instead defined by the number of games the three had played and their win-loss record. Killua and Kurapika had been vying for the lead spot, followed closely by an increasingly frustrated Gon. It was fun. 

He'd smiled more in the past few hours than he had some weeks earlier this year — earlier these past few years, he realized. It was strange; his mouth wasn't used to the emotion and was already starting to ache, even though Kurapika hadn't been grinning. 

It was strange, but it didn't mean he hated it. As he was reflecting, the lock on the door started turning, and purely from habit, Kurapika leaned forward to look through the peephole and a moment later, felt a searing pain on one side of his head. He saw door. Then heard an apology. Dazed, he stumbled back from the door, left side of his face smarting.

"Shit," he muttered, pressing a hand to it. No blood, at least. It just hurt, and Kurapika looked upward to stop a couple of tears springing up in his eyes. Another hand — broader, warm, definitely not his — pressed him down into a sitting position.

"Fuck," Leorio swore, using his foot to push the door behind him closed. "I'm so, so sorry, Kurapika, I didn't see you there, that's totally my bad, do you need an ice pack?" 

"Mmf," Kurapika said eloquently. He cleared his throat, thought about it with whatever brain cells were left from the critical hit. 

While he was thinking, Leorio had crossed the apartment in a few quick strides and brought back a bag of frozen chicken nuggets to press against Kurapika's face. "Hold this," he said. Kurapika obeyed, closing his eyes and focusing on the cold. It helped; the chill shocked him out of the fog of the initial pain. 

"Ooh, Leorio's in doctor mode," he heard one of the boys whisper. They sounded closer than normal; Kurapika opened his eyes and saw Gon and Killua had moved next to them.

"Do you need any help?" Gon asked. He looked worried and it made Kurapika's heart twist because he hadn't had someone to worry about him since Melody, and it was — well, it was a lot of feelings for his first day in a new environment. Feelings he had little to no experience with. 

Kurapika stood up. Bad idea. The blood rushed up with him and made for an unpleasant moment, but he gritted his teeth through it. 

"I'm okay, but thank you," he said to Gon. "And thank you, Leorio."

Kurapika considered it his biggest win for the day, thus far, that he was able to meet Leorio in the eyes without doing something foolish like swooning. Although, if you considered being made dizzy upon appearance of said man (even if it wasn't intentional), he supposed that he'd already swooned. He winced.

"Are you okay?" Great, and the man was a doctor. Taking care of him already. He stepped back, just a little, and offered up a smile. 

"I'm good, thanks." 

Leorio looked deflated. "I'm so sorry—"

"It's fine, Leorio," Kurapika said, uncomfortable with the shrinking person in front of him. Should he pat the man on the head? Fall over himself reassuring him? Words danced across his tongue as he tried and abandoned different tactics. He ended up saying, "You couldn't have known I was there."

Killua seemed to sense his discomfort or just wanted another chance to tease Leorio, because he stepped in with a "Old man, I can't believe you're losing your sight already. Careful, Gon, we have a senior citizen in our midst."

That jolted Leorio out of whatever nerves he'd been holding. "How many times do I have to tell you, Killua! I'm not old! I just look mature for my age!"

"Sure," Killua said, patting Leorio's arm. "Whatever you say." 

Leorio grunted, apparently unwilling to continue the argument. "I'm gonna whip something up for dinner real quick — we're gonna have to go grocery shopping tomorrow, but I got an idea. Dinner'll be ready in 30, maybe 45!"

Kurapika's head still throbbed, just a little, but he could feel the chicken nuggets starting to thaw underneath his grasp, so he put the package in the freezer and decided now was a good time to bring his belongings into his room. Gon rushed over before he could pick them up.

"Kurapika," he said seriously. "You, as an invalid, shouldn't be picking these up." He hoisted the duffel bag over his shoulder and diligently rolled the suitcase into Kurapika's room. 

It took a moment for Kurapika's brain to catch up to what just happened. Slightly stunned, but mostly entertained, he protested that he wasn't an invalid. Gon, however, wasn't paying attention, having just made a discovery.

He poked his head out of the room and asked, "Where's your mattress?"

Kurapika debated slapping himself. Or running headfirst out of the apartment right back to his old one. Or going to Target at — he checked the clock, 8:30 p.m. — just to lug a mattress some godforesaken distance, and he didn't have a car, and he completely forgot to order a mattress. 

"Are you okay, Kurapika?" 

He'd spaced out. "I'm...I'm fine, Gon. Thanks. I'll figure it out." He gave Gon a weak smile and started putting away his things, Gon bounding out of the room with a promise that he would let Kurapika know when it was dinner. At least Leorio had remembered to angle his bed so it would fit another and the room divider was already up, though the bulk of the closet fell on Leorio's side of the room; they had the master bedroom. Gon and Killua, he remembered from the tour the group had given him after he signed the papers, before he turned them into the new landlord, Wing, were staying in the smaller bedroom in a bunk bed. Very college experience, he mused. 

The gravity of the situation came crashing down on Kurapika. Okay, he reasoned, it wasn't that bad. He'd sleep on the floor for tonight, figure out if Leorio had a car and if not, he'd just order a mattress online. He was used to sleeping on the floor — he'd done plenty of it during his short stint in his first foster home, but that had been carpet and not tile. Exhaustion from feeling and thinking so much was starting to catch up to him. He really, really didn't want to sleep on the hard floor. Sofa it was, then. 

While thinking, he'd put away most of his clothes on the emptier side of the closet and set up the few pictures he had. One of Melody and him, on his sixteenth birthday, the first time he really felt safe with her — he was awkwardly smiling, but he had an arm slung across Melody's shoulder that showed his comfort. One of his parents and him, a blurry candid photo but one where they had huge grins plastered across their faces, laughing about something or another. It made his heart hurt to look at it for too long, so he plunked the frames down on the floor and moved on. He frowned at the wall and thought that it might be nice to get some art, making a mental note to look around the city for things later.

Then someone knocked. Leorio poked his head in, guilt still in his eyes when he looked at Kurapika. "Hey, roomie, dinner's ready." 

The moment Kurapika stepped outside, he was hit with a wave of hunger — the hotcakes and nuggets could only tide him over for so long, and all the Smash playing had made him surprisingly ravenous. And whatever Leorio made, it smelled so good that Kurapika had half a mind to rush over and swallow all of it. Gon and Killua were already hovering around Leorio, plates in hand and almost bouncing as they stared at the food.

"Come get your government-sponsored portions, kids," Leorio announced after sprinkling a handful of what looked to be green onions over the food. He was wearing a red, slightly frilly apron with the name "Paladiknight" embroidered in green script across the chest, and Kurapika choked back a laugh despite himself. 

"What?" Leorio scoffed, though his face was red. "Can't a man rock his family name?"

"Is it Christmas?"

"What?" 

"The red and green." 

"It's—It's a family apron!" Leorio said, hands on hips and frustrated. "I got it from my sister!" 

That was actually very sweet. It was endearing, Kurapika thought, but chose not to share that. "That's nice of her," he said. An awkward silence fell between them as Kurapika grabbed his portion, already cut and separated neatly. 

"Wait, do you have any allergies? Sorry I forgot to ask," Leorio said, sheepishly.

Kurapika shook his head. Would wonders never cease? Leorio, the classmate who'd annoyed him for all of freshman year psych, not actually annoying. Still incredibly cute. And incredibly buff. Breaking news to process later. 

He cleared his throat and thanked Leorio for dinner. While Kurapika was normally a night person, the day had worn him out, so he ate quickly and fell into a food daze relatively easily, doing the dishes before retiring to his room with an easy "Good night" to Killua and Gon and an internal "See you later" to Leorio. He picked up his toiletries and brought them into the bathroom, letting his thoughts drift as he brushed his teeth and washed his face. While moisturizing, it hit him that he'd have to have a boundaries conversation with Leorio, eventually. Decide if they were ever going to talk about freshman year. He sunk down to the floor, leaned his head against the wall and stared at the ceiling. 

He wasn't going to bring it up unless Leorio did, he decided. Maybe that was running away from it, but they had both signed the No Nail Oath, so they wouldn't have sex again. He knew that much. And they hadn't talked about the sex for years, so it didn't seem like either of them cared. 

That said, the dozens of texts — attempts from the other man to reach out and form a friendship — weighed down his phone in his pocket. 

"Hey again," Leorio said, walking into the room. Kurapika waved in response. At seeing his roommate sitting on the floor, no mattress in sight, Leorio's eyes widened. 

"Are you gonna sleep on the floor?" 

"No, I'll take the sofa," he said. Leorio stared at him for a minute, inscrutable. 

Then: "Take my bed." 

"What?" Kurapika was caught off-guard. 

"Take my bed," Leorio repeated.

For a moment, Kurapika thought he was asking for sex. God, that was unfair, given that the man still wore the same cologne as freshman year and it was unbearable. Kurapika was weak. It was the exhaustion, the close space, and the fact that Leorio was good-looking, he reasoned. Nothing more. He was still infuriating. And then reality set in and he realized — right, he didn't have a bed. Leorio was being a good roommate. 

But that wouldn't be fair; it was his fault that a mattress had slipped his mind.

"No, it's alright." I've had worse sleeping situations, he wanted to say, but that was another can of worms he wasn't planning to unpack with Leorio.

"Kurapika, you've had a long day. Just take the bed," Leorio said, insistent. 

"Leorio," he sighed, "You've also had a long day. Didn't you have a six-hour shift at the clinic and just cook dinner?"

"I'm used to it." 

"Leorio, it's your bed. Take it." 

"No." The man had crossed his arms and was looking at Kurapika, adamant.

Kurapika recognized the stubborn set of Leorio's mouth. It was the mirror image of his when he didn't want to back down. And he knew that his face was starting to match Leorio's, but he was starting to get frustrated. 

"I appreciate the offer, I really do. But it is my fault that I didn't plan ahead, so you shouldn't burden yourself."

"You don't have to sound so stiff," Leorio laughed. "It really isn't a burden. It's fine, Kurapika." 

Kurapika clenched his teeth. "I said take the bed, Leorio."

"And I told you to take it first." 

"Are you a child?" He was too tired to be composed. "Asked first this, asked first that. You on the couch would be like forcing a giraffe into a Mini Cooper."

Leorio looked sheepish and reached up a hand to scratch the back of his neck. "Well, about that."

"You don't have a Mini Cooper." 

"Listen here, Pika, there's nothing wrong with small cars!" 

Kurapika couldn't help it — he burst out laughing at the thought of all 6'4" of his roommate stuffed into a Mini Cooper, putting a hand over his mouth in a half-hearted attempt to cover up the laughter.

Leorio glared at him. "Ha, ha, laugh all you want. I got a great deal on that car! She's been a reliable companion for years!" 

Belatedly, he realized Leorio had called him Pika. He'd never been one for nicknames, but oddly enough, it wasn't grating when Leorio said it. 

"So you're taking the bed," Kurapika said. It wasn't a question. 

Leorio sputtered, face red. "I told you, I'll take the sofa." 

"Technically, you haven't said that exact phrase during the conversation." You've only said 'take the bed,' but nothing about you leaving it, Kurapika thought, the idea turning into a blush that made his face hot. 

They stood in silence for a minute before Leorio huffed. "I'll take the sofa," he said. "Doctor's orders, take the bed."

"Please, I just...I don't feel comfortable making you move."

Leorio's gaze softened. "Okay," he said. "Do you need anything? We have extra blankets that should be on the sofa." 

Kurapika vaguely remembered a soft blue fleece and a thin white sheet splayed across the sofa and shook his head. "I think I'll be good. Thank you again, Leorio," he said, feeling suddenly shy. 

He fled the room before he could talk more and got ready for bed with his heart pounding. He thanked his past self for having the unintentional foresight to brush his teeth beforehand and tucked himself in, focusing on the sound of Gon and Killua's laughter to not think about Leorio and his unexpected kindness until he drifted off to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm at twitter @janelle_cpp if you are curious about my irl alter ego


	3. september: i don't wanna be jaded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which kurapika starts therapy, gets into a few fights, and defends pineapple on pizza. not necessarily in that order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **cw for anxiety attacks + implied/mentioned child abuse + suicidal ideation + self-hate.**
> 
> to everyone who's been waiting! hello i am still alive and very much working on this story :) 
> 
> you may have noticed the number of chapters has changed — that's because i've decided to split it up into more parts, each roughly covering a month's time in the apartment. updates will hopefully come much sooner after the end of this month and fingers crossed that i'll get something up each month, at least. 
> 
> i'm heading into my last few weeks of undergrad, so i currently don't have much time to write (+ i'm working on something special for hxh big bang :')). 
> 
> hopefully y'all stick along for the ride! i've got some fun (okay, slightly sad) stuff planned. more killugon + leopika shenanigans to ensue over the course of this fic. 
> 
> title from "jaded" by near tears.

The start of September arrived with a whirl of re-establishing routine and remembering what it was like to balance work and school. Kurapika always looked forward to the start of semesters, the temporary feeling of a clean slate. The leaves turned the color of flames, marking the change of the seasons. His favorite park became cloaked in orange and he often enjoyed, when he got up early enough, walking through the winding trail that cut through it and people-watching. Even though the university was "embedded" into the city, he could feel the energy that buzzed in the air, perky first-years balancing a cup of coffee with more textbooks than they needed and exhausted grad students whizzing through the buildings, probably late for meetings. 

This semester, however, felt bittersweet: it was his last fall semester of undergrad. 

Not only that, he had to adjust to living somewhere new. That included lugging a new mattress up four flights of stairs the day after he moved in; he refused to put himself in the awkward situation of navigating couch-vs-bed with Leorio yet again. He, Gon, and Killua managed to maneuver it on top of Killua's black Prius after a couple of sweaty minutes of taping it to the roof. "Don't judge, it's energy efficient and it moves quietly and it lasts a long time, I only buy quality," Killua had said unprompted when Kurapika shot him a "Really?" look. He was grateful for their help, though; he had never moved a mattress by himself and was unprepared for how heavy it had been. By the time they got up, he was too tired to put sheets on and passed out on top of the mattress.

He woke up to the same blue fleece he'd slept with the previous night draped over him. 

Leorio again. His roommate's kindness made him flush, suddenly filled the room with burning warmth. He thought again of the texts he'd left on read, the few calls he never bothered to pick up, the number he never brought himself to block. The embarrassment made his toes curl and he threw off the blanket, busying himself with pulling his actual sheets over the mattress. 

Kurapika wasn't used to having other people look out for him, beyond Melody. It was, to say the least, strange.

When he lived alone, Kurapika would get home past midnight and stuff a piece of toast into his face as a midnight snack (read: dinner, sometimes lunch), then do work for a couple hours before passing out. More accurately, he'd pass out on the floor or on the couch in the middle of doing work before waking up, cotton-mouthed, a few hours later and dragging himself to a bed. 

But in 4D, he didn't have to worry about meals, Gon had explained: whoever came home first cooked dinner for the entire house. The people who didn't cook did the dishes. 

"So," he'd said, a grin on his face, "You'll never have to worry about food!"

At first, Kurapika didn't want to take the food. It felt like too much of a burden, despite Gon's protests otherwise.

Instead, Kurapika stocked up on snacks from a local Hunter Joe's. When he got home, he would scarf down a couple of fruit bars, maybe some trail mix or plantain chips. He always had excuses prepared to explain why his portion of the food had been left uneaten; he went straight to bed and didn't see it, or he wasn't hungry, or he had eaten dinner right before coming home. He covered his bases, too, making a show of opening the fridge if anyone was in the kitchen by the time he got back, to which he could deploy the tried-and-true "wasn't hungry" or "ate dinner before coming home." 

If any of his new housemates were suspicious, they didn't say anything. 

Until the end of his first week, when Kurapika got home at midnight and had been too exhausted by the first-semester-Friday-rush to even pretend to check the fridge for a portion. He set his backpack down with an indelicate thump on the floor and, after sinking down into the beanbag and fighting the urge to close his eyes and fall asleep right then and there, practically ripped it open. He dug out a fresh bag of plantain chips and started eating, not pausing to savor each chip given that he hadn't eaten all day. In the process of practically inhaling the bag, he didn't notice Killua had entered the room until the entire bag was gone. 

The other boy had what looked like a half-amused, half-alarmed expression on his face. 

"Hello," Kurapika said from behind the bag of chips. He felt an overwhelming wave of guilt crash over him, though he couldn't explain why.

"Hey," Killua said, hands in pockets. He looked at Kurapika, eyes narrowed. "Have you eaten yet?"

Kurapika held up the empty bag. 

"I meant dinner," Killua said, deadpan and seemingly unimpressed with Kurapika's eating speed.

"This is my dinner."

"You realize there's food for you in the fridge, oldie?" 

Kurapika chose to ignore that last bit. "I'm not hungry anymore."

Killua then fixed him with a glare that could've melted glaciers. "Sure doesn't seem like it." 

Kurapika watched as his housemate walked to the fridge on silent feet — how he did that was inhuman, Kurapika thought — and pulled out a plate of pesto pasta, uncovered it, and chucked it in the microwave. Horror began to creep down Kurapika's spine. Was Killua going to throw the hot pasta at him? Would he be yelled at for not accepting the food? Were they going to laugh at him for being unable to fend for himself, for being so pathetic he would settle for plantain chips? 

He closed his eyes and pressed cool hands to his temples. You're okay, you're safe, he said to himself. That was years ago.

"You okay?" 

Killua stood in front of him, the heated plate in his hand that he didn't seem to want to throw at Kurapika. Kurapika couldn't raise his head to meet him. Face burning and hands shaking — gods, Kurapika, he chided himself, get it together, you are an adult — he took the plate. 

"Thanks," he said, almost inaudibly. The shame of accepting it faded to a dull ache when the smell flooded his nose. Apparently hunger was a workable antidote for embarrassment. Kurapika started shoveling pasta into his mouth with half of his usual grace. 

Killua left the room so abruptly and quietly that Kurapika didn't notice he had gone until he had returned, carrying his backpack. He took out a notebook, pen, and textbook, sat down on the couch, and wordlessly started taking notes. 

Kurapika wasn't sure what to do. All the previous weeknights, Killua and Gon had been studying in their room or had been sleeping when he came in, so the situation was new to him. He put his fork down and thought. He considered leaving, not sure if he was a bother, especially since Killua didn't seem like the type to prefer company when studying that wasn't Gon. But if he left, Killua might assume that he hated him, or worse.

"Your thinking isn't quiet."

"I apologize," he said, the words getting caught on his throat. He cleared it.

"You don't have to be so formal, y'know." Killua leaned back on the couch, placing his hands behind his head. "It won't kill you." He smirked, but his voice was serious.

"And you don't have to leave — I can see you running circles in your head right now." 

There was an undercurrent of understanding in Killua's voice that, if Kurapika was being honest, he didn't want to examine too closely.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. You're fine."

Killua went back to taking notes and slipped his AirPods in. Kurapika let out a breath, quick and rushed, and scarfed down the rest of the pasta at record speed. 

"Thanks again," he said. 

"It's no problem."

After that, Kurapika started taking the food; the reluctance and guilt were drowned out by the rush of his coursework, tutoring starting soon, and the looming prospect of therapy at the end of the month. The social worker at the psych ward said that while his therapist was unorthodox — said with a twinge of condescension — she would be good for him. But apparently, because she was good for several people and because therapy was, as always, in demand, the soonest the social worker could book Kurapika an appointment was the end of September.

He was trying decidedly not to think about it. He made a pact to himself that he would resolutely ignore it until a week before, during which he would spend time preparing for the appointment by deciding what parts of his past he wanted to share, learning about his therapist's preferred methods of therapy, and contacting reviewers of said therapist. He might not have been happy about it, but it was part of the condition of being let go from the psych ward. Kurapika had simply nodded and smiled, probably said something about how he was looking forward to getting better. Especially because looking vaguely engaged and moderately communicative was enough to convince the social workers and doctors that he was ready to be released after three days.

Still. Brains were complicated things, and his was fucked up to the extent that he doubted being shut off from the world and his responsibilities for three days, a week, a month would've helped. At least he could take comfort in knowing that, with a therapist, he wouldn't have to burden anyone with small things, like the thoughts he'd grown accustomed to, breaking his concentration at unexpected times. "You're worthless. You should've died with your parents. You should've been the one to save them. No one wants you as a kid. You're a burden to Melody. You have to earn good things, you don't deserve them." 

They sucked, but he just grit his teeth and bore it. It was normal and true. 

He was worried about the nightmares, though. They had come back in recent years, though had faded after he returned from the ward. When they did come, though, he woke up in a cold sweat, shaking and sobbing and unable to go back to sleep, his entire body a live wire with guilt and fear and hatred for himself ricocheting throughout him. In short, they were loud. And visible. He and Leorio had a room divider as a barrier, but it wasn't soundproof and he still wasn't sure how light of a sleeper the other was. 

Kurapika tested the waters with Leorio that first week, though he hadn't had a nightmare. It was, admittedly, a little cruel: he would play recordings of screams from his phone, slowly increasing the volume and seeing if Leorio stirred. And it was also unrealistic, given that he rarely ever screamed — at least, not according to Melody — during them. But it was a good way to gauge how heavy a sleeper Leorio was without directly asking him, since that was the sort of thing that tended to arouse suspicion. 

Leorio woke up once. He could hear the hitch in breathing that came with someone shifting from asleep to awake, the temporary alertness that came from opening your eyes. Immediately, Kurapika tried turning the volume of the scream down, but his shaky fingers refused to cooperate before he heard a sleepy, "Pika? Everything alright?" 

So what if a chill ran down his spine? He was only human, and husky voices were, unfortunately, one of his many romantic and sexual Kryptonites.

He swallowed, finally got his fingers to work and turn down the volume, then said, "Yeah, I'm fine. Just watching some horror videos, sorry about the volume. Go back to sleep," to which his roommate seemed more than happy to oblige. The room flooded with snores almost immediately.

The next morning, though, Leorio asked him about it. 

"Hey, did I imagine things or did I wake up and ask you if you were okay last night?" he said, still blinking out sleep over a cup of coffee. 

"No, you asked me, and I said I was fine," he said. "I was just watching some horror videos. Could you pass the coffeepot?"

Leorio did. Kurapika poured himself a mug and took a sip. Bitter, but he wasn't picky this early in the morning. He checked the clock. Ten o'clock. Good enough; he didn't have anything until two. But he had to rewrite his notes from the previous class, so that meant he had to jolt his brain into being more awake than asleep within the next hour or two. He pulled out the pillbox he had in his pocket and took out a pill, which he washed down with another sip of coffee.

His roommate looked on, an amused look on his face. "That's two things I'm not used to," he said, holding up his fingers to tick things off. "One, never met anyone who watched horror videos to sleep. Two, never met anyone who downed their meds with coffee." 

"You must not be around a lot of daredevils then," Kurapika found himself saying before he realized.

"Oh, yeah, I'm very scared."

"Just because I'm half a foot shorter than you doesn't mean I'm more of a coward."

"Uh huh. Yeah."

"Height means nothing, Leorio." 

At that, he stood to his full height. It was rather unfortunate for Kurapika, who had to bear the humiliation of craning his head upwards to meet Leorio in the eyes. That said, he found dignity at the oddest times, and he gathered together what crumbs of it he could find and held eye contact. His neck would be cared for later.

"What were you saying? I can't hear you from up here."

"Aren't you a medical student? I don't think ears work like that." 

"They do now." 

"Congratulations on your riveting discovery of selective hearing." 

Kurapika held out a hand jokingly, not thinking Leorio would take it. Then he felt something warm close over his hand and looked at the handshake like he was having an out-of-body experience. 

"Thank you for the award, Mr. Kurapika," Leorio said, puffing out his chest and cheeks a little. "I'm honored to accept this title. I'd like to thank myself, of course, for being incredibly good at research. I'd also like to thank..."

It reminded Kurapika, vaguely, of a pufferfish, and he bit the inside of his lip to keep from laughing. This was horribly unfair, for someone to be this — friendly? Was that the word he was looking for? — in the morning (Kurapika was not a morning person, despite all appearances otherwise and all attempts at reform), but it had the benefit of waking up him up. With a jolt, he realized that Leorio's hand was still in his while the other rambled on and on about thanking some formative surgeon in a medical drama with a somewhat familiar name. 

"Uh," Kurapika stuttered out. Leorio, apparently, had taken his discovery of selective hearing to heart and thankfully did not hear Kurapika's painful attempt at verbally separating them.

He inhaled quietly and tried again. This time, he drew on the memory of the notes in his backpack waiting to be stared at and frowned over for the next few hours. 

"Leorio, as much as I would like to stand here and listen to you thank every soul that has walked this earth while you hold my hand, I have work to do." 

At that, Leorio jumped back and untangled their hands. His face, Kurapika noted with no small measure of amusement, was red. So was his neck. He muttered something Kurapika didn't hear, but sounded suspiciously like "Get it together, idiot." 

Kurapika decided he was feeling generous this morning, what with the caffeine starting to kick in and Leorio so generously helping wake him up. He patted Leorio on the shoulder. "There, there, Leorio. You'll have plenty of opportunities to get it together. It's only ten in the morning." 

Leorio shoved his head back in his textbook in response. 

Kurapika looked over at the material and frowned.

"You have to study all this? How much of it do you use?"

"Dunno," Leorio said. He sounded determined not to be derailed from the book. "But better to be prepared, right?" 

"I suppose."

He was mildly surprised, and admittedly, slightly disappointed, when Leorio didn't extend the conversation, instead turning his focus back to the textbook. Sighing, Kurapika read that as a cue from the universe to get started on his own work, to keep it in his pants, and to continue a practiced distance from the rest of his housemates. From Leorio, specifically.

No one ever said messages from the universe weren't versatile.

* * *

But living with people, Kurapika realized, meant you could never really escape their companionship, at the very least. He'd already seen that, through flashes of studying in Killua's vicinity at midnight or sitting at the table in the morning with Leorio. Kurapika had one more thing to learn, though. 

When one of the people you lived with was Gon, you were done for. You were already locked into the friendship contract. 

Kurapika discovered that at the start of next week, by staring at something scrawled on the most recent furniture acquisition — a small chalkboard next to the door — " _guy's night!! this saturday!! :)_ " clearly written by Gon. He didn't have the heart to either tell Gon that it should've been "guys' night" by making some snarky quip about who "guy" was or to find some excuse to duck out. Especially because Gon had drawn a cute game controller and a popcorn bag that sort of melted his heart. When he asked Gon about what "guy's night" entailed, Gon told him it was a bonding experience. 

"This is my first time living with people and I really wanna be friends with you all!" he beamed, then clarified. "I mean, people my age. We all like Smash, so I thought we could play some video games and cook dinner together."

He held up a box of microwave popcorn. "And I brought this home from my job." 

"Oh." Kurapika felt a little like an idiot for not knowing Gon had a job. It hit him, not for the first time, how he moved through life without really getting to know the people around him. "Where do you work?"

"I just got a job at the bodega a couple blocks down! Me and Killua did. It was a really sudden thing — I saw they were hiring and I know my dad's money won't last forever. Knowing him, he might stop giving it to me for a while and say it's a fun trial run for growing up." 

Kurapika saw a rollercoaster of emotions cross Gon's face as he talked. 

He didn't know how to respond. Gon didn't look like he wanted sympathy. Part of him wanted to hug Gon, but he knew if he tried that he was likely to give Gon an awkward pat on the head and mumble something about how that sounded bad and his dad didn't really seem like a good guy. He cursed himself inwardly for not knowing how to handle emotions as an incoming teacher. 

Breathe, he reminded himself. Not everything has to be such high stakes. Another thought immediately whacked that one out of his head, insisting that of course everything was high stakes and everything mattered. He let out a tiny huff and settled for redirection. "How's your job so far?"

"It's really good!" That seemed to get Gon's mind off whatever conflicted feelings he was harboring. "It's tiring, but the boss is really hands-off. He's got a cool mustache and he gives us 20% discounts on all the junk food we want. So if you have something you want, we can get it for you."

"Thanks," he said, oddly touched. "I'll keep that in mind."

But when "Guy's Night" rolled around a few days later, Kurapika was not in the mood to celebrate. It had all but slipped his mind. 

His Gorteau republics history professor was an imperialist apologist, which was bleeding through in the first assignment he'd given them, a prompt so inane Kurapika didn't even want to think about it. During class, he'd had to physically restrain himself from striding up to the professor, who had a smug look on his face that announced he thought he was God's gift to humankind, and docking him straight in the nose. Turned out that he was actually a co-author of one of the books published by Lucilfer Publishing, the very company whose founder's ideals had resulted in Kurapika's parents' death. So he was definitely not in a good mood. More accurately, he was feeling murderous. The nubs of his keys pressed red indents into his palm on his walk back to the apartment.

It was late afternoon, the sun starting to tan into a becoming orange that slanted across the Yorknew skyline, when Kurapika jammed his keys into the door and pushed it open with a huff. As soon as he entered, ready to stomp into his room and fall into a deep, hopefully dreamless sleep for exactly twenty-six minutes, he was surprised to see that Killua, Gon, and Leorio were huddled together in the kitchen. 

Shit, he realized. Guy's Night. 

Gon was none the wiser about Kurapika's mood and grinned as soon as he saw him. It helped to melt some of the irritation that was clinging to him, and the white can that Gon held out to him did most of the rest.

"Hi, Kurapika! Me and Killua got some wine coolers for us. Well, Killua got them, and I just watched. Wait, Killua, did you pay for them?"

"Uh." Killua said, hands in his pockets. "These are the ones no one buys? I left some cash in the register."

Gon shrugged. "Good enough. Here you go, Kurapika, before it gets warm." 

He narrowed his eyes at the two of them. "Wait, aren't you underage?" Then he looked at Leorio, confused. "Aren't you over 21? Couldn't you have just bought alcohol?"

Just as Leorio opened his mouth to explain, Killua cut in.

"I've done worse." Killua shrugged.

"The stealing or the alcohol?"

"Both."

"So it's not that bad!" Gon concluded. "Even Leorio thinks so, and he's almost a doctor!"

Kurapika turned an accusatory glare on Leorio, though it lacked heat. "I thought you were supposed to be the responsible one?"

"Hey, drinking at home with trusted adults—" he gestured between himself and Kurapika, "—is perfectly fine. Not advisable for everyday, but once in a while shouldn't hurt, right? Everything in moderation." He took a swig from the wine cooler in his hand and let out an exhale. "Refreshing."

"If you don't want it, Kurapika, I'll drink it," Killua threatened.

"Well. We can't have too much underage drinking, can we?" 

Kurapika dropped his bag next to the couch and took the wine cooler from a smirking Killua, who took a sip from his own. Kurapika followed suit. Peach. Killua had good taste. Or whoever stopped by the bodega and bought the other wine cooler flavors had bad taste. Either way, he wasn't going to complain.

"So what are you all doing in the kitchen, then?" 

"Remember when I said we were gonna cook dinner? We're just deciding what to make! You had really good timing, actually. We hadn't started talking about it yet." 

"We could make pasta—"

"Leorio, you make pasta every other night."

"There's nothing wrong with pasta! We are college students, if you remember correctly, and we can't all be—"

Killua had shoved a wine cooler in Leorio's face. "Drink this, old man."

"Why are you holding it in front of me like it'll be medicine?"

"Well, I've never seen you drunk, and I'm hoping that it'll knock you out so we can have a moment of peace. It is the weekend, after all. When people rest, sometimes."

"It takes a lot to get me drunk, Killua. I'm a modern-day human equivalent of a giraffe."

"Yeah, we know," Killua and Gon echoed.

"Respect your elders, kids. And Gon... _e tu_ , Gon? I thought you liked me."

"Oh, I do. But you are a giraffe. It's not a bad thing, it's just a fact."

"A giraffe who is not cooking your dinner tonight."

"Thank God."

"Killua, I will end you."

Kurapika felt almost like an intruder, watching the conversation in front of him. Part of him was in disbelief that these people had only lived together for, give or take, a couple of weeks. They seemed like they had known each other for ages, and want ached in his chest. 

Growing up, he had always wished for a sibling. One, at least. Maybe two. People he could swap inside jokes with and know like the back of his hand.

To be fair, he had gone back and forth, because it would've provided some relief to not be the only bearer of survivor's guilt, to have someone who understood exactly the place he came from. But it would've also been difficult, because who knows how the foster system would've split them up? And he didn't know if a younger him, at twelve, would've been able to handle losing another person he loved. 

The lump in his throat was there before he knew it was.

"I'm just going to head into my room to change," he called over his shoulder, feet moving so fast he almost tripped over them. As soon as he shut the door, he slumped to the floor and leaned his head against the door, doing his best to keep the unexpected crying quiet. 

Fuck, this sucked. He was a mess. He wondered, not for the first time, why he thought it was a good idea to move into this apartment. This loud, rambunctious, very alive apartment. All things Kurapika was not. He remembered he was still holding the wine cooler and tipped his head back to chug it in two solid gulps. The fizz brought renewed tears to his eyes, and he rubbed at them, annoyed. 

He thought about texting Melody, then felt like a coward. It was just three people. Three people who were already friends, who looked like a family, and gods, Kurapika, don't think of family —

A loud knock came from behind him. Panic rising in his chest, Kurapika scuttled back awkwardly to bump against the room divider and threw on the nearest piece of clothing — a hoodie thrown haphazardly on the floor — before saying, in what he hoped was a composed voice, "Come in." In lieu of stepping all the way in, Leorio poked his head into the room. He did a double take, blinking twice at Kurapika, then cleared his throat. 

"Is. Is something wrong?"

Leorio rubbed the back of his neck, looking nervous. He was keeping his distance, like Kurapika was a wild animal and any sudden movement would cause an attack. 

"I'm sorry," he said in a rush. "Is this too much? The guys night thing. I told Gon it might not be a good idea, 'cause you're really shy — I mean, that's what I assumed because I know you never answered my texts, and I thought it might've been because I came on too strong, so I wanted to warn him. But I know he really wanted to do it, and I'm kinda weak to his puppy eyes. He's sweet. Uh, I mean. Are you okay?"

Kurapika was not expecting that. Of all the things. He took a moment to think, a little dazed. Leorio had thought about him? That was endearing. And unexpected. But to be fair, there were a lot of unanswered texts freshman year that petered off into a couple memes every few months when Leorio must've realized Kurapika wouldn't text back. 

And Leorio wasn't wrong; he was shy, but that wasn't the problem. He was hesitant to tell Leorio the full truth, because it was the sort of thing that always changed how someone looked at you. He was tired of pity. So he just gave Leorio a small smile and shake of the head.

"No, I apologize. It's very nice of you all to put this together. I just had a rough morning and talking to people isn't what I would call my strong suit," he said. 

"But I do want to make an effort," he continued, and found he meant every word. "Just give me a few minutes to gather myself, and I'll be out."

Leorio nodded, eyes understanding. It was almost unnerving, for Kurapika to meet Leorio's gaze and find it lacking of pity or sadness. He bit back the sudden urge to blurt out a thanks. 

"I'll just shut the door on my way out, then?"

Kurapika nodded. Leorio left, and Kurapika heaved himself off the floor to give himself a once-over in the bathroom. When he took a look in the mirror, he realized that the black sweatshirt he was wearing had a faded "Yorknew Medical" logo over it and fell past his knees. 

Ah. No wonder Leorio had done a double take. Kurapika was really hitting all the marks tonight. He sighed, swapped out the sweatshirt for one of his own, and put Leorio's back where it was, folding it — no use in pretending that it hadn't moved at all, he reasoned, when Leorio had already seen him.

He was hit with another swell of gratitude for his roommate's lack of pity. Especially knowing that he had seen Kurapika with his sweatshirt and must have leaped to the conclusion that Kurapika had just thrown on the sweater to make it seem like he hadn't been sobbing minutes before Leorio entered. 

He took a few moments to breathe deeply, in and out, before he went out to face everyone. Before the voice in his head could push him into another spiral, he walked out and found his housemates huddled together on the couch, scrolling down a pizza place's menu. 

"Hey," Killua said, the first to notice him. "We decided to order pizza, because none of us wanted the old man's cooking."

"I would've eaten it," Gon protested, but half-heartedly. Leorio elbowed Killua and shot Kurapika a tentative smile over Gon's head. He returned it. 

Pizza. Kurapika's stomach let out a grumble, more responsive than he expected — the wave of hunger struck him with surprise, and nothing sounded better than a slice of greasy, cheesy pizza. 

"What are we getting?" He settled onto the sofa arm, next to Killua, who was commandeering the computer. Gon sat at his feet, Leorio to their side. 

They decided without much fuss on three pizzas — Gon and Killua could eat a pizza each, they confessed sheepishly; both of them got something that, from the pictures, looked like more meat than pizza. Leorio and Kurapika got a half combo and half Hawaiian pizza.

The wine was starting to hit when the pizza came. He'd picked up another wine cooler, which had turned the world's brightness slightly up and made it blurry around the edges. It had also melted away the residual awkwardness he'd felt earlier. He was motivated to defend pineapples on pizza, which Leorio and Killua scoffed at. It was, he found out, one of the rare things they agreed on. 

"Listen, I hate to admit it, but the senior citizen's got a point. Who wants to eat fruit on pizza? At that point, it's just a dessert."

"Of all people, Killua," Kurapika said, pointing his napkin-protected pizza at the white-haired teen, "Didn't Gon say you were obsessed with chocolate? Pineapples are sweet things, too."

"That doesn't even make sense. And just because I like chocolate doesn't mean I like all sweet things!"

"Didn't you say that if anything had enough sugar, you would eat it?"

"Gon, you're not helping." 

"And Leorio, fruit is healthy," Kurapika said. "Isn't that points for it?"

"What?" Leorio sputtered. "That has nothing to do with why I don't like it! Just because I'm a med student doesn't mean that my food preferences are linked to health!"

"Yeah, we know," Killua muttered. Leorio threw a pillow at him, but Killua caught it instantly, pizza still in hand, much to Leorio's dismay. 

"I just don't get the appeal," Leorio shrugged. 

Kurapika took a deep breath. This was important. He had to convince them that he was right, because pineapples on pizza was a divine combo. That being said, there were limitations, and he had to acknowledge them. He stood up from his perch on the sofa arm to stand in front of the TV. Gon, his half-empty pizza box in front of him, cheered.

"Alright, everyone. Here's my case for why pineapple on pizza tastes good. I will say that this only applies when pineapple is paired with meat as a topping. The blend of slightly sweet and tangy flavor cuts through the grease of the cheese, and that balanced with the fatty, savory and hopefully crispy meat is the best pizza experience, no competition. Vegetables can't compete, because their —" He floundered for a minute, waving his hands while his brain tried to catch up to his emotions toward pizza. What was he trying to say? 

Oh. "—Because they're too savory. They just don't create as well-rounded of a flavor profile. The closest thing, maybe, are bell peppers or tomatoes. But they don't offer the subtle sweetness that really ties everything together." Satisfied, he looked at his audience. 

"Any questions?" 

"You're going to be an entertaining teacher." Killua smirked. He started a slow clap, which Leorio joined. 

"Sorry, Pika. I still don't think it tastes good—" "Are you sure you're not actually a food science major?" "—But A for effort?" 

Sighing, Kurapika walked back to the sofa arm. "It was worth a try. But I will also say that pineapples are good for one more thing." 

He plucked off one pineapple and lobbed it at Killua, who looked up in surprise. He took another pineapple and threw it at Leorio. 

"Food fight, food fight, food fight," Gon chanted. He tore off a piece of one of his crusts and threw it at Killua, who retaliated with another crust of his own.

"We are college students! We paid good money for this pizza!" 

That just resulted in Leorio being pelted with more crusts (Gon and Killua) and more pineapple (Kurapika). Then chaos broke out — everyone started lobbing crusts and bits of pepperoni and stray olives and pineapples toward each other. Kurapika got food in his hair and grease on his clothes and his hands and he was enjoying himself. He was having the most fun he'd had in ages, and it felt good. 

The rest of the night passed in a pleasant wine-soaked haze; Kurapika decided to have one more cooler before he cut himself off and was riding on a buzz that made everything twice as entertaining, including his unfortunately weakened Smash skills. As the wine started to wear off, Gon proposed that they play a game of Truth or Dare. 

"Killua! As the youngest, you have to go first. Truth or dare?" 

"Dummy, of course dare." "Do thirty burpees!" 

Killua stuck his tongue out at Gon and proceeded to do said burpees with barely a pause, patting himself on the back when he was done. 

"You're amazing, Killua!" the other boy beamed, to which Killua flushed and ducked his head."Easy. Kurapika. Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

"Boo." Killua looked at him for a long moment, trying to decide what to ask. "What's the thing you hate most?"

"Well," Kurapika said before he could draw the words in. "There's a lot of answers to that." 

He bit back a self-deprecating remark and instead let the familiar anger swirl in his chest. He told them about Troupe Publishing and the eugenicist textbooks that they published under the leadership of "Dr." (air quotes included) Chrollo Lucilfer. They completely rewrote the narrative of the Kurta, Kurapika said, a peoples with a gene that turned their eyes red whenever they felt an extreme emotion. That "research" and the resulting sensationalized books made them rich.

Lucilfer and his co-authors turned the Kurta into modern-day vampires, insisting that they were inherently evil and drawn to blood like moths to a flame. When their eyes flipped red, the Lucilfer narrative went, they were ready to feed.

And because the Kurta tradition was similar to the Amish — they lived in small communities, shirking modern appliances — they had no idea why people looked at them with such vehemence the rare occasions they ventured out of the community and got excited by something, anything. When people began disappearing, it was only a matter of time before they all did. Almost all of them. 

"Except me," he said. "So that's why I'm studying teaching; I refuse to let that narrative stand. And," he said, the alcohol settling into his anger, "I'm going to discredit the Troupe. I don't know how, yet, but I will."

Kurapika stopped short of saying the full truth: that his parents had been the ones to die in front of him. That the only reason he'd survived was because he was concealed in a closet that no one had thought to look in, too paralyzed to do anything but watch the goons — who thankfully ignored signs that there was a child in the house — shoot his parents, yelling about eliminating threats. That if he had been able to run out and get a doctor instead of shutting down, they might have still been alive.

When he finished, he knew his eyes were glowing underneath his grey contacts. At the very least, they were stinging. He thought about taking them off to show his housemates, but it made him feel uneasy; he was not some show and tell thing to be paraded. It reminded him of his first set of foster parents, and that was always a memory lane he would rather not walk.

He felt the same rush of gratitude that he'd felt when Leorio found him in their room when he looked around: no one's eyes shone with pity. All of them, actually, looked indignant, though Killua looked slightly guilty. 

"Sorry for uh, bringing back bad memories," he said, toying with a spare thread on his shirt. Kurapika frowned, recognizing the tone in his voice all too well. 

"Hey, Killua," he said. Teacher voice, activate, his alcohol-soaked brain urged him. "It's fine. You didn't know. And I'm sure if I ever write a book, that will be part of it, so it's not like it's classified information." 

Though to be fair, he couldn't remember the last time he'd told the story. He wouldn't share that with Killua, though. The reassurance did enough to smooth over the wrinkles of doubt written on Killua's face, but he could still see his housemate tense. Killua nodded. Gon, next to him, patted his back and reaffirmed that Killua couldn't have known. 

"Kurapika, what can we do?" Gon asked, eyes wide. "That's horrible of them. I can't believe people would just...do that."

"This is my own journey," he said gently. I'm not sure what you could do, he said internally. "But I agree. They are truly horrible." 

Leorio, who had been quiet up until then, sprung up, clutching his fist hard enough that the wine cooler can started to bend inward. 

"Fuck them! I'll stomp over to their publishing office and punch that Lucilfer guy in the face right now. Look, it won't do anything, but it could, uh, at least be satisfying to watch." 

Kurapika tried and failed to stop a chuckle. The thought of his tall, lanky, goofy roommate, teashades askew and fists ready to pummel Chrollo Lucilfer — who, based on a few Google searches, looked more like the vampires he claimed the Kurta were — was just plain amusing. Pure comedy. He would pay to see that happen. But he didn't want to be stuck on the subject for the rest of the night; his anger was already such a frequent visitor in his head that he just wanted to shove it aside for the night. 

"So you, Mr. Leorio. One Punch Man," he said, tilting his head up to meet Leorio's eyes. Where he was, the light hit the specks of gold in his eyes just enough to make them gleam, and part of him ached for a night three years ago. "Truth or dare?"

"Dare," Leorio said, tilting back the rest of his wine cooler while holding Kurapika's gaze. I dare you to kiss me, some impulsive voice in Kurapika's head said. He pushed it out of the way with the stern reminder that he lived with this man and that they hadn't even been through a full month of the lease and he did not want to make things awkward yet again. Still. Those eyes. He could drown in them. 

Instead, he flicked his gaze to a spot on the TV behind Leorio and leaned back in his seat. "I dare you to tell me why you became a doctor."

That earned jeers from Killua and a huff from Gon. 

"That's not how this works!"

"I guess he's just as much of a grandpa as Leorio," Killua stage-whispered to Gon in response. "Memory problems and all that." 

"I'll remember that," Leorio said, sniffing and miming crying. "From my own housemates, whose rent I contribute to. Maybe I'll just have to conveniently forget to pay rent this month." 

Gon's eyes widened. "Liar." 

He waggled a finger at Gon. "You're on thin ice, kid."

"And back to the doctor question. It's simple. Money."

"You're kidding." 

"Nope," Leorio continued. He popped the P.

"At that point, just join a fucking pyramid scheme," Kurapika said through gritted teeth. "Why is that a good enough reason to enter the field? Aren't you supposed to want to take care of people?" 

That didn't make sense to Kurapika. This man, who he had seen be thoughtful and kind in several ways through the two weeks they had lived together, just wanted to be a doctor for the money. Not because he wanted to help people. Not because he wanted to give people comfort. 

But for money. Whatever silly crush that he had crumbled before his eyes, because he despised people who did things solely to amass and hoard money.

Kurapika's world turned red. "So you're telling me that people are going to put their lives in your hands and your only investment in them is their money? You're just as bad as the Troupe!" 

"Listen here." Leorio bent down over him and jabbed a finger at Kurapika's chest. His voice carried so much hurt and "You didn't let me finish. Do you really think that little of me?" 

He was scared to meet Leorio's eyes, scared to even breathe; he was so close he could feel Leorio's breath brushing against his face in small shaky huffs. 

"I need money to start a free clinic. A clinic for people without insurance, for people who can't afford the godawful costs of healthcare. So that no one has to watch their loved one die in front of them and walk around every single goddamn day after that knowing that if you were rich enough, if you had enough money, you could've saved them." 

Tears, hot and unexpected, wet Kurapika's sweatpants.

They weren't his. Leorio drew back, arms crossed, rubbing his eyes furiously and looking away, sitting on the beanbag — the farthest seating spot from Kurapika.

"I'm sorry," Kurapika whispered, so soft that he wasn't sure Leorio had heard it. If he had, Kurapika wouldn't have known; the inscrutable expression on Leorio's face didn't budge. 

So much for not making things awkward, Kurapika thought. His mouth tasted like iron. 

Gon suggested Smash, so as to lighten the mood — he had a wary, tentative smile on his face, and Kurapika was struck with another pang of guilt. Gon probably felt horrible. This was his night, after all, an attempt to start a tradition and one that included him. He was afraid to look at Killua for fear that he'd disappointed him, too. And the thought of even glancing Leorio's direction made his stomach churn and his hands sweat. He pressed his fingernails deep into his palm.

Self-loathing washed over him. You ruined something again, he scolded himself. There's a reason you don't have friends, because you don't know how to be a good one. Remember what happened to Pairo? You couldn't save him—

Kurapika forced himself to breathe and offer Gon a matching tentative smile. "Yeah, sure," he said. 

Another hour passed, full of button mashing and muttered taunts that eventually worked their way up to normal volume. By the time they finished, with a red-faced but triumphant Gon finally beating Killua after rounds of the opposite — "One more time, Killua, I can beat you this time!" "You said that the other ten times." — he was calmer, at the very least. Exhaustion and finger aches caught up to the rest of his body, but his brain was still racing. He checked the time — 3:30 a.m. 

"Good night," he said, getting up to leave. 

"Good night!" Gon called back, dragging Killua to the room. 

"Good night, kids," Leorio said. 

Kurapika didn't remember getting ready for bed; he remembered what came after, though, letting his thoughts bang against each other while he lay on the mattress, eyes wide open. 

For however long he did that, he wasn't sure. But it was long enough to hear Leorio come in, attempting to be quiet but cursing underneath his breath when he tripped over something on his side of the room. He could hear the other man moving on the other side of the divider until, after what Kurapika thought was a few minutes, he went silent. 

The quiet rocked his entire body, brought another wave of anger toward himself at full force. 

He wanted to apologize again, but the words stuck in his throat. Even when Leorio's slight sniffles faded to the snores he'd gotten used to falling asleep to, he couldn't untangle himself from the guilt eating at him. I'm so sorry, Leorio, he kept thinking. I wish I could've been kinder. Maybe if I hadn't been drunk — no, that's not an excuse. I was reckless and thoughtless. I was being selfish and got wrapped up in my emotions, again. This is why I don't like getting close to people, because my tongue is too sharp and too harsh. Because I don't ever think when it matters.

He sucked in a breath and fumbled with his phone to type out an apology, scrolling to a conversation he never had the heart to delete and ignoring all the unread texts. 

He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep without releasing the words somehow. Even in apologizing, he was selfish. Gods.

Typed out, then deleted, then typed out again, then deleted: _I'm sorry, Leorio. It was unkind of me to snap at you and make an assumption about your motives. I admit, I didn't think it was like you. You seem too kind for that. And I was right, but I didn't need to find out like this. I didn't need to push you until you snapped. I didn't mean to force you to relive that pain. I know what that feels like and I hate myself for putting you back into that headspace. You deserve better._

Eventually, he sent this: _I'm sorry, Leorio. I admire you greatly and it was unkind of me to snap at you and make an assumption about your motives. I apologize for making you relive what was undoubtedly a painful moment, and I will be more thoughtful in the future._

When sleep finally dragged over Kurapika, it was in fits and starts. He kept seeing hazel eyes full of hurt.

* * *

Leorio accepted his apology the next morning, though not through text.

"Hey," he said, startling Kurapika while he was making coffee. "I saw your text. I forgive you — we're good, don't worry about it. It happens." 

Kurapika bit back the urge to say "No, no, it doesn't and I should never have spoken" and continue crumbling in a heap of apologies in front of his roommate. 

"Thanks," he said instead, focusing intently on the coffee burbling in front of him. 

"Yeah. Don't mention it. Uh, have a good day, okay?" And then he was gone, leaving Kurapika to his own thoughts again. 

That conversation was probably the most words they exchanged with each other that week; though Leorio was perfectly cordial when they ran into each other in common areas or when they were both awake in the room, they didn't slip back into easy banter. Whatever rapport they had had just vanished into thin air. Kurapika couldn't sleep that next night and for several nights after; while Leorio had said it was fine, that the two of them were good, whatever he felt as soon as Leorio walked into the room — a crawling, biting sensation that shredded his stomach — did not feel good. At all. 

One of the two things that got him through the week were meeting the 5th grader he'd be tutoring for the remainder of the school year, Zushi.

He had been slated to tutor more broadly at a nearby elementary school, but got nervous at the last minute and decided to advertise himself as a private tutor instead: though he felt ashamed about it, he also wanted to work up to being in front of a larger class. And he could always do that next semester, he reasoned. 

Zushi's older brother, Wing, had been in one of Kurapika's Padokian Studies classes and asked him if he would be interested in tutoring Zushi about history at large, not just about Padokian Studies. It wasn't necessarily tutoring, per se, Wing clarified.

"He's just really interested about the subject, but this is just a gen ed class for me and I know I can't do it justice. I remember you mentioning during an icebreaker that you were an education major—"

"Yes, I'll do it," he said, all but tripping on his words. It wasn't what he was expecting, but he and Wing worked out a deal where he would come over once a week and he would get paid a fair amount of jenny — already more than he would've gotten at the elementary school, where they were unable to pay tutors.

That being said, he spent the better part of the week studying every history book he could get his hands on and poring over research articles, trying to be as comprehensive as possible. There was Padokian history, but also Kurta history — he'd be damned if he wasn't going to tell Zushi about it — along with Yorbian history and Azian history. Not to mention the nuances of Greed Island and NGL, how the terrain there lent itself to decentralization in one and centralization in the other. 

Conveniently, it helped him in his classes; he was taking the Padokian Studies class with Wing, along with a class about museums and whether they could be decolonized. Other classes on his docket included constitutional history of Yorbian republics and Azian republics, literature of Indigenous groups, and the damn Gorteau republics class. 

Then there were the subhistories of the communities in the cities. There was the political machine that was the Mafioso Hall in Yorknew, how vestiges of it remained despite its glory years being years ago. There was the Lukso Province, how its belief in technology only as a means of progress and not progress in and of itself — he recalled it with a pang in his chest, one mixed with just a tinge of hope, that he could do this: he could keep talking about his history, he could help spread a real narrative.

All his studying also had the convenient side effect of him mostly forgetting to dwell on the way Leorio seemed to be avoiding him. He got the sensation that his roommate had moved shifts around so he could, as much as possible, spend as little time around Kurapika as possible. 

But it was fine, Kurapika reasoned. He just needed to give Leorio space. 

Part of him, though, wanted to run to Leorio and apologize, again and again. Wanted to make sure he knew how bad he felt about hurting Leorio — but that's selfish, he scolded himself. He didn't want to make his roommate feel manipulated.

So instead he surrounded himself with so many words it made his head ache.

When it came time for him to meet Zushi, he could hear his heart pounding in his ears. Suddenly his mind went blank outside of his self doubt: What if he completely forgot everything that he'd studied? Was he a fake? He was just a university student; what did he actually know? Did he know everything well enough to explain it to a fifth grader? His palm had turned red from his fingernails pressing into it when Zushi threw open the door and beamed up at him, extending a hand in a funnily formal gesture that put Kurapika at ease. 

Zushi reminded him of Gon, all bright eyes and open ears. He liked him instantly.

"Thanks for tutoring me!" he chirped, inviting Kurapika inside and ushering him to the dining room table, placing a glass of water in front of him. "I have so many questions. But first, tell me about yourself! My brother said you were in one of his classes."

Kurapika explained that he wanted to be a teacher and that he had settled on ethnic studies as his subject matter, giving Zushi a brief overview of what happened to the Kurta and sharing that he wanted to set the record straight. He saw Zushi's eyes widen incrementally when Kurapika mentioned he was the last of the clan. But he didn't have time to dwell on that, because 

"So what are you interested in?" he asked. 

He found out that Zushi was excited about pretty much everything: he wanted to get his hands on as much history as possible, and was interested in possibly volunteering as a museum docent at the Sahertan Museum of Natural History, so would Kurapika have any idea about how to do that? And could Kurapika debunk myths about the Kurta, because he hadn't known that there were other books beyond Lucilfer Pubilshing? 

And Kurapika had thoughts about both of those, so many, and that launched them into a conversation that consumed the rest of the two hours that he spent with Zushi. He and Zushi talked about the Museum of Natural History and the ethics of displaying objects, especially human remains. About the possible sensationalism in museums. Zushi asked him how museums could treat artifacts ethically, and he said he'd think about it because he felt strongly that — at least with animals and humans — reproductions were much more ethical, but he wanted to look up examples of museums that said they focused on ethical display and education. (Helpful for class, at least.) 

He didn't know if he was ready for the whole, full-fledged retelling of his experience with his clan, but he told Zushi a folk tale, explaining that much of Kurta culture would be difficult to preserve or recreate because it was primarily oral. 

The story he picked was an origin story, about Kaveh the Blacksmith Apprentice, who was the first Kurta to have scarlet eyes. The teen, one day furious at his parents and their disciplinary methods, furious that they were forcing him to go to school beyond his work as an apprentice, snuck into the forge late at night. He was not planning to make a dagger to harm them, much as appearances would've suggested, Kurapika explained. Or at least, he would not have used it that way, even if he thought he was enraged enough to do so.

But, careless and driven by emotion, he leaned too close to the fire when he was working with the metal. His eyes were filled instantly with red sparks that dissolved every other color into black. 

In agony, he prayed to the gods, begging them for mercy. Taking pity on the young teen, they rescued his eyes, but as a reminder to not be hasty and think his actions through, the gods punished him with a reminder: his eyes turned red whenever he felt extreme emotion. It was burning shade that pierced the hearts of those around him with fear. It was also a curse for a man who was incredibly gentle. Still, a similarly gentle girl befriended — and later married — Kaveh. It was how the scarlet eyes became a part of the Kurta. 

He was almost scared to look up when he finished explaining, worried that Zushi's eyes had glazed over. He had been talking for a while, and he was still carrying the fear that no one would be interested in an actual rewrite of the Kurta canon that existed (even if the "canon" was wrong). 

But Zushi's eyes were shining and everything tense in Kurapika let go.

"Thank you for listening," he said. He wished he could communicate exactly how he felt to Zushi, the complex swirl of emotions sitting underneath his chest — gratitude and grief and anger and a foreign one, hope. 

"Thank you for sharing!" Zushi beamed. "I wanna hear more next week."

"He's a good kid," he told Wing on the way out. "Really smart." 

Wing looked proud, and it made Kurapika hurt a little. He wished he could've seen that look on someone's face. On Pairo's face, Pairo who was as good as his brother. 

"Thanks for doing this," he said after handing Kurapika a wad of jenni.

"It's my pleasure," he said, sincerity coating every word. He was excited for next week and floated down the street in a thoughtful but contented haze — it was the most energized he'd felt since the food fight they'd had during Guy's Night (darn it, Gon, he couldn't get the misspelling of Guy's Night out of his head) and it felt good. It felt new; he couldn't recall the last time he'd felt like he had something to look forward to twice in a week. 

He knew it wasn't strictly teaching, or at least the idea of teaching he was used to. He'd come prepared with a lesson plan he agonized over, though he knew that his sessions with Zushi would naturally lack structure given the nature of the tutoring relationship. 

But while it was unfamiliar to him, the fluidity that came with just sitting and talking was refreshing. Sure, most of his classes were like that — humanities classes and their discussions — but it was almost like being in office hours with a TA or professor whose brain you wanted to pick. It made him think of the sprawling discussions he had with a professor for one of his freshman year classes, Izunavi, in office hours, that helped him avoid being the know-it-all freshman with his hand perpetually raised; Izunavi was a sounding board for his questions and ideas. Even if they often quarreled.

He should reach out to his old professor. They had fallen off as Kurapika had spiraled in sophomore and junior year.

He added that to his mental checklist of Things to do to Move Forward After the Incident, which had expanded since he last thought about it a couple weeks ago. Gods, this was unwieldy. He wanted to lie down. 

1\. Get out of psych ward: Check. 

  
2\. Get tutoring job working with elementary school kids. (Sort of?)

  
3\. Finish fourth year of college.

  
4\. Process parents dying in front of him.  
a. Stop being so goddamn self-loathing.  
b. Maybe find ways to ask for help?

  
5\. Teach about the Kurta genocide.

  
6\. Stay alive and keep taking his anti-depressants.

  
7\. Live with other people.

  
8\. Get in touch with old professors. People who you've fell off with. 

It was a little funny, he thought on the way home. He had more people he considered semi-close acquaintances than he had in years and one of them was a fifth-grader. 

The other thing that got him through the week was cooking with Killua. It was an unexpected development, the unspoken closeness they'd developed through sharing the same space at night. Kurapika had taken to making food to deal with his insomnia and thoughts, and Killua was a semi-cooperative cook and very cooperative eater who hung around the dining table to do work and occasionally bug Kurapika while working. 

When Kurapika had lived alone, he had never really set aside time to make anything more elaborate than a stir fry or some fried rice. Anything that got him fed and didn't cost much money while making him feel slightly less guilty about his shitty eating schedule and habits was good enough; food was a necessity more than something to be enjoyed. 

But with his thoughts straying and the familiar pulse of anxious energy returning at night, he decided he would work his way through a cookbook he borrowed from the school library: the Joy of Cooking. It was a lot less embarrassing than powering through even though his brain was half shut-down and he felt nauseous, because it gave him something to do with his hands. Plus, it mean they would have more food than Leorio's pasta. 

"Kurapika, I don't know what you did to your roommate, but you have to fix him," Killua groaned after Kurapika placed a coffee and chocolate custard in front of him, cooled from the night before. 

"Eat this first," he said, pointedly ignoring the question. Killua, a willing participant in anything involving chocolate, all but inhaled it. 

"This is...surprisingly edible," Killua said, ignoring Kurapika's huff. "Okay, fine. It's pretty good. But speaking of edible things, back to the old man. His pasta is all kinds of fucked up."

"What does that have to do with me?"

"It's the whole 'making food with love' thing," Killua shrugged. "I dunno. Feels like Leorio's making that food with lots and lots of frustration or some other shitty feeling, because it's been off the three nights he's made it this week."

The hurt hazel eyes that Kurapika had been trying very, very hard not to think of leapt back into his mind. 

"Please, Kurapika. I can't survive on custards and desserts and bodega pizza alone. I'm starving," he said, flopping back against his chair and looking despondently up at the ceiling.

"If you go on like that, no more custards for you," he muttered, but he knew Killua had a point. The oversalted, mushy pasta had been getting progressively worse through the week, and though he wasn't sure if it could directly be traced back to the unease between them papered over with distance and "We're good", it needed to be fixed.

* * *

Okay. He could do this. Kurapika inhaled, shaky and unsure. 

He hadn't been able to sleep the night before, splashing water on his face and getting dressed with trembling fingers as soon as his alarm went off. He bolted out of the loft before anyone could see and hailed a taxi, feeling somewhat like he was on a mission for the mafia or something, trying to be discrete while hiding in plain sight. Though he knew it wasn't the case, he felt like "I'm going to therapy because I almost strangled myself" hung over his head and anyone could see it when they looked at him.

Thankfully, the office building he was heading to housed multiple doctor's offices, not just his therapist's practice. He could've been going in for a routine check-up with a familiar physician, or a consultation with a dermatologist. 

He stared up at the innocuous office building for a moment before exhaling a still unsteady breath and striding toward the elevator, pressing the button for the fourth floor without hesitation. He tapped his foot against the floor, clenching and unclenching his fists next to him before he entered.

He couldn't meet the receptionist's eyes when they handed him a form to fill out with past medical history. He clenched his teeth, looking down at the form. He'd promised Melody, when he got back from the hospital, that he would try to be honest with himself. Being honest with himself sucked, especially given that he didn't particularly like himself, and that was on good days. 

**_Behavior: Circle the following that apply to you._**   
_Insomnia, Work too hard, Withdrawal, Suicide Attempts, Lack of motivation, Sleep disturbance, Loss of control, Crying, Concentration difficulties_

_**Feelings: Circle the following that apply to you**._  
_Angry, Conflicted, Guilty, Restless, Fearful, Unhappy, Depressed, Tense, Envious, Regretful, Panicky, Helpless, Hopeless_

_**Physical: Circle the following that apply to you.** _  
_Headaches, Numbness, Unable to relax, Excessive sweating, Rapid heart beat, Tremors_

When he handed the form back over to the receptionist, he felt nauseous. They were judging him; he could feel their eyes on him, he was probably the worst person to come through these doors, who else could watch their family die in front of them and do nothing? He didn't think he deserved a second chance. Even with the tether of teaching and passing on Kurta history. He was a coward. The Kurta were, though gentle, braver than he was. 

He bit down hard on his lip to distract himself from his stomach churning and tried to concentrate on the feeling of his feet flat on the ground. The stability didn't help much, given that he felt frozen to the seat cushion. An eternity passed before he heard his name called by a petite blonde woman, their hair in pigtails. He recognized her face from the research he'd done. Dr. Biscuit Kreuger, a.k.a. Bisky. 

"Kurapika?"

He swallowed. His voice came out rusty when he said, "That's me," and got up to follow her into a room. He barely registered her introduction, a stream of words that was already familiar to him — her name was Biscuit Kreuger, but he could just call her Bisky, this was just a first session, she wouldn't be hurt if he decided to stop seeing her if their styles didn't fit, and how was he? 

He didn't know how he felt. There was a black drape over his brain and all he knew was the sound of his heart and the taste of something awful in his mouth. Sweat was starting to collect on his back and under his armpits. Some part of him recognized that his breath was speeding up while his chest started to tighten. Though he was gulping in breath, he didn't think any of it was making it to his lungs. 

Logically, he knew that this was part of why he was seeing a therapist. The logical part of his brain, however, had gone and fucked off somewhere he couldn't find it. Shaking, he lowered himself into the leather seat across from her. 

"Why is this not a couch? Shouldn't it be a couch?" he found himself asking, voice frantic. He wanted to run out the window or melt into the ground or tape his mouth shut. Maybe all three. 

Bisky laughed. "I hear that all the time. You're not the first one who's asked that."

Kurapika was almost certain he had stopped being able to breathe at this point. HIs thoughts had come back in full force, plowing through him. _Are you going to start probing into my life? Do I spill out my entire life story to you? You think I'm pathetic, don't you. You're going to_ —

"Let's start with a grounding exercise," Bisky said, interrupting his thoughts. "This might be silly, but I'm going to go through the alphabet and ask you to name something that starts with each letter."

Numbly, he nodded. He could do that.

"First, you're going to need to take a deep breath."

He didn't know if he could do that. Still, he ventured a try. A tiny gulp of air, an attempt to hold it in, an exhale. Shaky, but it was there. 

"Perfect." Bisky nodded approvingly. Kurapika almost let out a sigh of relief. He realized that his eyes were wet and bit his lip. If Bisky noticed, she didn't say anything. "Okay, let's start with A." 

"Apple."

"B."

"Banana."

"C."

"Coffee."

That went on for the next few minutes. As Kurapika went down the list of letters, he started settling back into his body, noticing that his breathing, though shaky, had returned to a somewhat normal pace. He felt the way his shoulders were knit together, held so tight, and the places where the moisture from his sweat had collected. Mostly, he felt like he was back on solid ground. 

When they reached Z — "Zero" — Bisky asked him how he felt. 

"A little better," he admitted. 

"Good." 

Bisky whisked him through a set of questions about his medical history, including whether he'd seen a therapist or psychiatrist before. He mumbled that he hadn't to the first one and that he had to the second, given his recent stint in the psych ward. Unexpectedly, Bisky didn't flinch; she just typed it into the computer and swiveled her chair back to face him. 

"Well, you can go, if you want."

"What?" Kurapika blinked, once, twice. "Can you repeat that?"

"You can go if you want."

"Why—"

"I know how people get out of the psych ward, Kurapika. Some people get out because they really want to. Some people get out by smiling and nodding. But either way, I don't want to force people to be here," she said. "If you're not ready to do the work, that's okay."

"Okay," he said, dumbfounded. This was something he did not expect, much less prepare for in the endless simulations of therapy sessions he had run in his head before today.

"In the meantime, I'll be reading. You can talk if you'd like to, or you can spend the time on your phone, or you can leave. Do you mind if I turn on some music?"

He shook his head no; she pressed a couple buttons and the sound of Kakin pop, bubblegum beats and rapid-fire shrill, perky voices, filled the room. 

True to her word, Bisky flipped open a magazine with a shirtless, ripped model on the front. Kurapika noted with some amusement that they looked similar to Leorio. He also had no idea what to do with himself, given that he had anticipated being poked and prodded until his entire life story spilled out of him. 

He was still paranoid that Bisky was watching his every move; his eyes were drawn to her even when he tried to keep them away. But after a few minutes of that, he didn't see any trace that she was paying attention to him. She looked fully absorbed in the magazine, eyes flitting over the page, so Kurapika took a moment to finally collect himself. He inhaled and exhaled quickly, then leaned back against the chair and settled in by pulling his feet up onto it.

"What are you reading?" 

Bisky looked up, startled. Her face melted into a smile when she realized what he'd asked. "Well, I'm reading the latest issue of [issue]. They've just announced the Top 100 hottest people across the six continents, and I'm wondering if there's anyone here who I'm unfamiliar with so I can check out their material." 

"Oh. Did you find anyone worth learning more about?"

"Not yet, though I'm only on number 85." She showed the pages to him; they were slender with waist-length silver hair and a piercing gaze that Kurapika found a little too intense for his taste. He understood the appeal, though.

"I hurt someone I care about," he found himself saying, the words coming out before he had even decided to speak. That opened the floodgates. "And I apologized, and he told me it was fine, but he just keeps avoiding me and I don't think it's fine, and he's my roommate and we can't keep going on like this. It's only September. I'm on the lease until July." Please help me fix this, he almost said, but bit the inside of his lip before he could keep going.

"So you hurt someone you cared about," Bisky said. "And things don't seem like they're better after the apology. But I want you to focus on how you're feeling right now. Tell me about that." 

"I hate myself," he mumbled. "This person has never been unkind to me and I said something cruel without thinking. I am a horrible person and I don't deserve to be forgiven. But. I'm selfish and I want him to forgive me anyway."

"That's a lot."

Kurapika buried his head in his hands. "I know."

"Why do you think you're a horrible person?" 

Kurapika told her everything. He told her about his parents and watching them die in front of him, the rage that had consumed him and carried him through his first foster care stint, a time that had scarred him deeply. He had to pause before talking about it, and even then, he only got out the basics: parents who only wanted him as a trial run for learning to raise their own child when they became a teenager. Who were masters of smiling faces and perfectly posed group photos on social media and harsh words and harsher blows outside of it. Who called him unripe fruit because he had entered the foster care system as a teenager, never mind his history. How it was his fault that they were always on edge because he always found ways to do something wrong — eat someone else's food, take too long to shower, spend too much time sleeping. 

How he had found an ally in his caseworker, Melody, once he had worked up the courage to write her a note about what was happening, and how she had taken him in when he was 16. Then the rage, under more stable conditions, gave way to a gnawing sadness and fear where he thought there should be more gratitude. Melody was too good for him, he said. Too good for the gratitude that he couldn't give her because he was always so afraid that she would hurt him, even though she had never shown any indication of that. He had nightmares about lifeless bodies and helpless hands and fake smiles, but they had started to fade. Melody home-schooled him so he wouldn't have to reintegrate into high school, and helped him get the apartment he'd just left. 

He had been better for a little bit. Better enough that he had the energy to stop by office hours and make mentors out of his professors, to joke with people when his shyness was quieter. At the very least, he was more functional. And then he spiraled, the sadness dragging him down after freshman year to a place that no one else knew how to reach. There wasn't a trigger; it was just there, every step and every day, refusing to let up. The nightmares started again, sending him into self-hatred he couldn't break free from; he started overloading himself so he wouldn't be able to sleep. Troupe Publishing released another textbook to wide acclaim. He sent emails asking for extensions until even opening his laptop or phone felt like too much work. And then he decided that it wasn't worth staying if things were going to be like this forever. 

That day, Melody had come to visit him and found him hanging. 

"And then I went to the psych ward, I started living with people, and now I'm here," he said. 

When he finished, his throat was dry and his eyes were stinging. He had needed to pause several times in recounting the drastically shortened version; some part of him was screaming at him for being so stupid, so weak as to make a snap decision to trust this stranger. 

Bisky, to her credit, looked at him the same way Leorio had a weekend ago: without pity. 

"Thanks for sharing that with me. That sucks," she said, and the abruptness of that made him laugh, a short little noise that surprised him. 

"It does," he said.

"Is all of that why you don't think he should forgive you? Do you think all of this makes you irredeemable?"

Irredeemable. He rolled the word around in his head and thought about it in relation to himself. He nodded.

Bisky sighed. It was the sound of someone who had heard this before and thought it was bullshit. "You know, I think someone needs to tell you you're wrong." 

"But I'm not." 

"Yes, you are." 

"No."

"Yep! You're wrong."

He crossed his arms, feeling silly but now also indignant for some reason he couldn't place. "I'm right. I'm so deeply fucked up that no one should be able to forgive me."

"Yeah, you're fucked up."

"Aren't you not supposed to say that?"

"Probably," Bisky said. "But just because you've gone through things that have fucked you up," she amended, "that doesn't make you irredeemable or unforgivable."

"Yes, it does."

"You were a kid," she said, not unkindly. "You were scared so many times over and no one told you it was okay to be scared. You barely got a childhood."

She didn't give him time to retort; he had barely opened his mouth when she continued.

"You sound like you're starting to be good friends with this housemate of yours, Killua. If he told you this, would you tell him that he didn't deserve forgiveness?" 

"No," he said reluctantly. "I would probably want to consensually hug him. Or tell him that he was not a bad person and that shitty things just happened to him." 

He glared at Bisky, though it wasn't mean. "I know what you're trying to do."

"Is it working?" she said, corners of her mouth turning up.

"A little," he admitted. "But I'm not Killua. I'm me."

"Great observation! You're learning."

"Thank you," he said dryly. 

"For what it's worth, you've told me what I assume is the short version of everything that's happened to you. I don't think you're a horrible person. Like I said, you were just a kid. And I also think that you never got the chance to feel like second chances existed."

"They don't." 

"How do you know?"

"I'm never going to have a second chance to kill those people who killed my parents. I'm never going to be able to take back what I didn't do."

"That's true," Bisky allowed. "What about this housemate of yours? What makes you feel like he won't give you a second chance?"

"I insulted his character. And I've ignored his multiple attempts at friendship for the past three years. We only started talking because I moved in with him. He's been incredibly kind to me and I don't deserve it. Part of me wants him to just. Ignore me now because I deserve it." 

"You don't have to earn other people's goodness. Sometimes they give it and sometimes you can take it for granted. But that doesn't mean you don't deserve it." 

Kurapika exhaled. 

"What do I do?"

"What do you want to do?"

"Die."

"Mm."

"Fine. I want to ask him how I can fix things. I want to apologize again and say everything I didn't the first time. I want to do better. I still want to die, though."

"Well, at least you're honest about it."

"You're a strange therapist. Nothing like I expected," he said. 

"I get that a lot." Bisky smiled at him, completely unbothered. "But sometimes it's what people need, y'know? Some people hate my approach, and I can't change that. It's part of life."

The rest of the session passed quickly, Bisky teaching him some other coping strategies for rising panic before she scheduled their next appointment — same time next week — and sent him away with homework.

"Homework?" 

"Think of it as part of my ongoing lesson plan, if it helps. Teacher speak," she laughed. Kurapika found a slight smile on his lips at the joke.

"I'll need you to take your meds, obviously. But every time you do," she said, "I want you to tell yourself that you're worthy of forgiveness. Once a day."

He sputtered.

Bisky leveled a pointed look at him and wagged her pen at him. "You can say mean things to yourself the rest of the day, though I'd rather you not. But I can't get inside your brain and stop you. However, I want you to say that phrase at least once a day. You deserve forgiveness. You are not ruined. You are worthy of forgiveness. Both from yourself and from other people."

"Now go out there and get your man," Bisky chirped. "I'll see you next week!"

Before he could interject that Leorio was decidedly not his man, the words died in his mouth — maybe killed by some distant hope that maybe, just maybe — okay, Kurapika was putting a moratorium on that part of his brain. He gave Bisky a wave and stepped outside, feeling like he'd just stepped out of a movie theatre, blinking and unprepared for the brightness that awaited him. Time suddenly moved at a normal pace. 

He felt exhausted, like something vital had been taken from him. But he also felt lighter. 

* * *

Feeling aimless, not sure what to do with himself after therapy — strange that he could start saying that had become part of his schedule — Kurapika went to the library.

It felt like walking through a time machine. Kurapika had stopped going to the library when he started spiraling; he didn't want people in his classes — possibly Leorio, though he hadn't had a class with the man after psychology, since their majors didn't overlap — to see him. 

But he also felt embarrassed, strangely enough, by the books' presence.

He had always felt most seen by books. He didn't want them to see him like this. 

It was nice, though, being back, like being enveloped in a warm hug from a friend he hadn't seen a while. He ran his eyes over the familiar glass windows and towering floors, recognizing the way the beams latticed across the windowpanes and, out of the corner of his eye, the path to his favorite study spot. He took the stairs, for exercise, he told himself, counting the floors as he went. The sun had already begun sinking, darkening into defiant orange, when he reached the fourth floor. 

And because the universe possibly hated Kurapika, he realized that his housemate was sitting a few tables away from the elevator on the other side of the room. Great timing, he wanted to yell at the gods or whoever else was hanging out up there. 

Leorio was intensely focused on scribbling down something from the huge textbook he was staring at, glasses starting to slide down his nose. Leorio's head was bobbing slightly, probably keeping time with whatever music was coming out of his headphones.

Kurapika had been planning to talk to Leorio when he got home, to stay up stubbornly through the night with coffee in his hand until he could corner his roommate. While he had been dreading the confrontation, he didn't want the rest of the year to be like this: them dancing around each other, the tension closing in on him as soon as he walked into the door, Leorio unable to make eye contact with Kurapika for any longer than a second.

He stepped to one side and kept himself partially hidden by the bookshelves, so he could observe Leorio and how he'd changed in the past four years. 

Kurapika was a swirl of attraction and want and embarrassment and pain all at once. 

Not surrounded by people, Leorio was zeroed in on his work with the same gravity Kurapika noticed when he stole flashes of his groupmate across the library table in freshman year. It had always amazed him, though he was too proud to admit it directly to Leorio in freshman year, how good Leorio was at people. How at ease he was switching from a dedicated scholar, smarter than Kurapika had ever given him credit for, to an easy flirt with a smart mouth. Even thinking of their banter from freshman year — or earlier in the month — sent chills down his spine that he couldn't decide if he hated or not. The five o'clock stubble across his chin, combined with his focus and his height, made him look like a professor fixing up his lesson plan. It was a look that Kurapika admitted he liked, a lot. He could see the way that Leorio's back muscles flexed underneath the slim button-up he was wearing as he wrote and he told his brain to stop thinking about how they were conveniently on the same floor where they'd fucked nearly four years ago. 

Leorio seemed more worn down than he had when Kurapika first met him; his shoulders sloped downwards like they were used to carrying something painful, his eyebags had grown, and if Kurapika was reading him right, his eyes were flecked with sadness, not just green and gold. 

Kurapika didn't want to think about how much his cruelty had contributed to that. 

He didn't want to think, in general. 

But he didn't want to leave things like this. Should he interrupt Leorio while studying? Should he say anything at all?

Then Leorio looked up. They made eye contact. Kurapika held his breath to see what Leorio would do. 

To his surprise, his roommate gestured to him to sit down. Numbly, he walked over, feeling as though he was walking a million miles with each step.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," Leorio said back.

"Um. Thanks for inviting me to sit with you." No, Kurapika, that's not what you wanted to say. "I'm sorry. I know I already apologized, but I just wanted to ask," a swallow, a gulp, _keep going, be honest_ , "Have you been avoiding me?"

Leorio froze, looking like a deer in headlights, head still facing his notes and pen still in hand.

"Yeah," he mumbled. Then he took a deep breath and met Kurapika's eyes. "Uh. I — that really hurt, Kurapika. I don't know what to say. I just, I know how it sounds, but I wish — I wish you would've thought better of me. And I don't know, I've gotten that before, but it sucks hearing it every time."

And oh, if Kurapika hadn't been feeling guilty before, that did it. A knife of utter self-loathing stabbed his heart.

"I really am sorry, Leorio. I apologize for assuming. You — you are far too kind to not just me, but to the people around you." He flicked his eyes upward, briefly, trying to dispel the glassiness in them. "You will be a wonderful doctor. And I know you are not obligated to forgive me, I just wanted to make sure you knew that I think very highly of you. Good luck with studying. I'll see you around, I guess," he said, the ghost of a smile playing across his lips. 

He moved to get out of his chair, but warmth covered his hand and stopped his movement. He stared at it.

"I forgive you," Leorio said. "I needed space, and I still do. But. I forgive you. And I understand, I really do. There are a lot of doctors who do it just for money."

His eyes darkened.

"I despise those people, but I realize how it sounds when I say I want to be a doctor for the money. I sound like them. But I just — I don't like going back to that place, y'know? Where I was when I lost people I loved."

"You don't have to keep going," Kurapika murmured. 

"Let me finish," Leorio said gently. "My mom, my dad, my best friend. All killed by something I could've stopped — we could've stopped — if we could've gotten better insurance. Money really does make the world go round. Which sucks. I wish it didn't. But it does, and the only reason I want to make it is, like I told you, to start a free clinic. So no one I treat has to worry about that same thing. First, though, I have to pass this test." 

He held up his textbook with a grin. The tonal shift threw Kurapika for a loop.

"But seriously, Kurapika. Take it easy, okay? I was hurt, but I also understand why you would've said something like that. It, uh." Leorio bit his lip, fiddling with the wire of his earphones. "It means a lot that you think I'd be a good doctor." 

"Yeah, of course," he said. 

A flush covered his cheeks; Kurapika was sure he wore a twin one, especially when he realized Leorio's hand was still on his. He withdrew it and gave Leorio a small smile. 

"I'll see you at home?" 

"I'll see you at home," Leorio said. 

"I'll see you at home." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!! <3 any comments are so, so appreciated. 
> 
> u can find me on twitter [@janelle_cpp](http://twitter.com/janelle_cpp) or tumblr [@katipunan](http://katipunan.tumblr.com)!
> 
> -
> 
> next up: the gang goes trick-or-treating, among other things. 
> 
> "You sound like a lovesick Netflix main character."
> 
> "Coming from the one who looks at Gon like he just hung the moon and stars and painted the Sistine Chapel? That's huge."
> 
> "What do you mean?" Killua said, looking away, but there was a decided flush on his face. 
> 
> "It's okay, your secret's safe with me," Kurapika said, patting his housemate's shoulder. "Gon probably won't notice anyway."


End file.
